Simply Elementary
by Rebel Paisley
Summary: Sequel to "Not a Problem, Just a Challenge". So maybe Dave had some hypothetical feelings for Sam Evans. Which was just…unfortunate really, because it was *Sam*. Dave tries to woo him anyway. Probably because he hates himself.
1. You're Rockin' the Boat

Chapter 1

You're Rockin' the Boat

This story begins a few weeks after the Mike/Puck intervention from "Not a Problem, Just a Challenge".

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any of its characters, only the plot I put them through. That one's totally me guys, sorry.

Warning: Boy/Boy lovin', some adult language.

Summary: So *maybe_*_ Dave had some hypothetical feelings for Sam Evans. Which was just…unfortunate really, because it was Sam. Dave tries to woo him anyway. Probably because he hates himself.

Dedicated to Frosted Heaven, Spice of Life, and Abby, for being such wonderfully enthusiastic reviewers for obscure pairings and making me feel more loved than I ever deserve to be. You guys are the best.

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So when it got to the part where Mike and Puck had their happy ending and the A/V equipment had been packed away and their whole little glee family had gotten to celebrate; Mike and Puck eventually got to explain the process of how they got back together, which inevitably led to somebody asking why the hell Karofsky was there.

To which everyone involved had replied, _"Because he's awesome"_ (though this was something Dave could only infer as he wasn't actually present for said explanation) and then the world had kept turning and everyone was good and happy and fine because the world's two biggest idiots had finally dug their heads out of their asses and confessed their undying love for each other. Or at least, as much as they could manage while still being the world's two biggest idiots.

It was something they reveled in, Dave was sure.

The problem then, after the happily ever after, was that now he got the looks. The, _"What do they know that I don't?"_ looks.

Dave knew what those meant. It meant they were going to look closer, to see what defect he had that made him just a _'specialist unique shining star'_ like the rest of them. What was his deal that made him accepted, what was his thing that made him want in on the New Directions action, what made him stick his social neck out to hang with schlubs like them?

Obviously, it wasn't because he was a good person. Were he a good person, were he a _secure_ person he would have said to hell with the world and worn his zombie makeup with pride. Dave would have danced in the musical without any (or minimal, lets be realistic) complaint. He wouldn't give a damn about what anyone else thought of him, he would have hung out with whoever he liked, whenever he liked, in whatever location he liked. That would be how good-person Dave Karofsky would have rolled.

But he wasn't.

He knew it, and they knew it, so there had to be something wrong. Something other than a sudden social one-eighty, an urge to hang out with good people because they were good people and not because-

Well, they knew it wasn't charity work, so it had to be something else.

Normally Dave wouldn't have given a damn, because _no one_ listened to the glee kids. No one cared about their problems, no one paid attention to their drama. They were their own microcosm of miniscule proportions, only to be studied for entertainment purposes. If you needed a good pick-me-up just look at the glee kids and see? Wasn't your life so much more awesome? Obviously yes, look at how lucky you are. You are the luckiest son-of-gun that will ever come into existence, now stop complaining and live your dreams like the magical rainbow monkey you are.

That was...that wasn't all him. That was just stuff he'd heard, in the hallway. Bits and pieces.

Point was, even if the glee kids _did_ pick up on something, the odds of anyone else caring about it were slim to none. It would just be a wild, overdramatic accusation. Like how Dave had threatened to kill Kurt last year and how some of them wanted to get married or whatever. Out of proportion. Nobody cared.

The only way they could screw Dave over was if they could provide undeniable evidence of whatever his unknown issue was.

But that was kind of the problem.

Because Dave just maybe, _hypothetically_ had feelings for one Sam Evans. Which was just…unfortunate really, because it was Sam _Evans_ and the guy wasn't…he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, you could say. And that _was_ the nicest way of saying it because Sam, dear God Sam was just so _dumb_, but somehow-

Apparently that was a thing for Dave, because he found it remarkably adorable every time Sam opened up his mouth to unload his newest most outlandish/inaccurate/confounding/just…dumb thing to have ever been said float into existence caused Dave to fight the urge to sweep him into a hug and never let his slightly-below-average brain go because it needed to be protected _damn it_. That childish innocence and stubbornness and the pouting, dear lord the pouting was giving him high blood pressure because teenage boys should not look like _that_, they shouldn't be allowed to be that cute it wasn't _fair_-

So Dave had this thing for Sam. And Sam, who apparently couldn't hold a grudge if there was a gun to his head, had very gleefully latched onto the idea that Dave was his new best friend. On top of Mike, because Mike went without saying. Because now when Mike was busy with the boyfriend and girlfriend situation, Sam would just call Dave up to do things. Or sometimes he just called Dave first and Dave, for the life of him, could not say no. He couldn't.

Because Sam knew his deepest-darkest secret and honest to God _did_ _not care_. If it was possible to care less, if there could be negative caring, Sam Evans would have achieved it. Because for him hey, there was a missing piece, and without that missing piece Karofsky was just mean and bitter and a bully but then _with_ that piece in place Sam got it (which was stupid because _he_ was stupid and still had issues with tying his shoes for Christ's sake). He understood the why and didn't hold it against Dave, which just added to the ever-growing mystery of why the glee kids weren't more bitter and angrier than they should be, how they could still be so nice and accepting when the world had dished them out nothing but crap for no real obvious reason other than someone had to get the short end of the stick and they had been outvoted.

So Sam knew and Sam didn't care, and Sam knew and Sam didn't treat Dave any differently than he treated Mike or Finn or any of those other glee dorks. It was just - _poof _- Dave was one of them now, and if Dave was one of them then it was _obviously_ okay to invite him over for video games or movie marathons or jogging or to test out his impressions or dance moves or whatever with him, because Dave had been okayed. Just like that.

It was honestly that simple.

It was that simplicity and that stupidity and Dave's own dopiness and it didn't hurt that Sam was easy on the eyes and had a big heart and- well, Dave had spent way too much time thinking about it, but when it was all said and done and he had nothing to show for it but a stunning migraine and some unintelligible doodles that had been scribbled over and subsequently burned, Dave figured, to save himself the headache, that considering all the things that had happened it was reasonable for him to feel this way.

Give him a few days; give him a couple of weeks or maybe a month and the magic would go away. The honeymoon phase of their friendship would come to an end and he would just be regular ole' Sam Evans again. Stupid and a minor nuisance but a good and reliable friend, emphasis on the _friend _part, who Dave could spend time with until the year ended and he graduated and got on with his life with a football scholarship and new opportunities waiting ahead, finding a place where same sex relationships were a standard and hunker down there without fear of getting the shit kicked out of him.

The way he saw it, this was a pretty solid plan.

But then Sam had to ahead and be stupid Sam Evans, and Dave figured out he was utterly, utterly screwed.

This was not a phase. This was not a mild infatuation. This was not his brain's need to keep itself occupied by focusing on the every move of a single person.

This was him, David Karofsky, having feelings for Sam _freakin'_ Evans.

And this was Sam Evans being his usual air-headed self, and being impressively unaware of this fact.

Not that other people weren't.

Which was kind've the problem.

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Santana figured it out first, though in Dave's defense, Santana had been on the up-and-up way before Dave had been comfortable with admitting any sort of attraction to the same sex out loud. It had been one careless glance towards Sam's posterior that had gotten him called out in the first place and that was before, you know, the _feelings_, so it wasn't like Dave ever had much of a shot for hiding it from someone who knew what to look for.

Though it was a relief that she turned out to be a real bro about it.

"He know about your rainbow flag?" were the first words out of her mouth, and _no_ (okay yes, undeniably yes), Dave hadn't known she was behind him and let out a surprised gasp as he was waiting, very nonchalantly, for Sam to finish…whatever it was he finished on Tuesday s before they went to the library to study (because Dave wouldn't let Sam fail his classes, he needed to keep his eligibility if he wanted to compete in that glee club thing).

To her credit, Santana's raised eyebrow was only _slightly_ mocking when Dave turned to face her, hands clutching his backpack tightly to avoid grasping at his chest where his heart beat like, a thousand miles a minute.

Jesus, she didn't need to sneak up on him. Or talk about that. Like, _ever_.

"Will you chill out?" Santana said, eyes rolling in a perfectly practiced motion before zeroing in on him again, serious. "The only people who know are the ones you've told and/or the one's who managed to fight through their own fog of self importance to notice you ogling sugar lip's ass. And considering how terrible most of their observational skills are that seems to be limited towards just myself and probably Kurt. And see, Kurt's going to do the _nice_ thing and give you space and distance so you can sort things out for yourself and _blah-blah-blah,_ let's get to the point." She shoved a finger at his chest, perfectly manicured nail tapping against his sternum. "Does. He. Know?"

Dave gave a jerked nod in reply, because talking right now, especially about that, he wasn't so good at it and Santana kind've scared him, just a little, because she really hadn't been lying about the knives she had hidden in her hair, he had seen her take them out to cut apple slices for Brittney.

She studied him, eyes narrowed before shrugging and rolling her weight back on her heels. "Figured as much. That whole Mike/Puck intervention group seemed a little too chummy not to."

But just to clarify, even if she already knew (because she knew things okay? It was weird but it was what she did) Dave spoke. "But he doesn't know about the-"

"Ass ogling?" she supplied and he choked, checking over his shoulder for Sam and immediately flooding with relief when he saw the lack of blond in the distance.

Santana gave a sigh that could be described as impatient and rolled her eyes again, stepping forward into Dave's personal bubble to stare him down, despite actually being shorter than him. "Alright, so here's what's going to happen David the reformed. I'm going to go ahead and give you the benefit of the doubt here. You see guy, you want guy, and we're all going to assume that you want the guy to be _happy_ so you're not going to do _anything_ that might have some kind of negative backlash with him, right?" She stepped closer, cocking her head to the side with a smile that promised retribution if needed, threats lurking behind her eyes. "Right. Your…_pursuing_ is not going to hurt one hair on his emotionally inexperienced head. You will be a proper gentleman. You will take care that _both_ his and your reputation stay intact, what little of those there is, and yes, yours comes second, let's just be clear on that."

"What are you-?" Dave began to ask because his face was heating up, eye twitching, though part of him was comforted in the fact that someone was standing up for Sam, and the young Latina cut him off.

"What I'm _saying_," she declared, emphasizing the word with a deceivingly jaunty tilt of her head. "Is that Sam Evans is like a baby bird. A particularly stupid, incompetent baby bird, but a tiny chickadee nonetheless. You will exercise the most delicate of care when handling him. You will be nice, you will not force, you will not intimidate and you will _not_ trick my boy Sam into doing anything he feels just the _slightest_ bit uncomfortable with, or I will rain down the kinds of hell that you would never wish upon your worst enemy, the kinds of hell that make you make the fire-burning, gut-starving, flesh-peeling kind of hells seem like an oasis of happiness and sunshine in comparison." Dave gulped and she glared up at him, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect. "What I'm _saying_ is that you have my full permission to chase after my Sammy-boy, but if you hurt him-"

"Rain down hells. Yes, I got it." The words rushed out of Dave's mouth, he really did not want to hear the details again and Santana took a step back, pleased smile plastered on her face.

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding," she said, and then her tone changed from pleasant-threatening to pleasant-snarky. "So if you ever need a wingman, I've got your back D."

And with that declaration she gave his shoulder a few comforting pats and sashayed off; just as Sam made his way around the corner, trying to shove books haphazardly into his backpack and walk at the same time, doing neither one all too successfully.

"Here," Dave sighed, almost surprised at how quickly he shook off the tension from Santana's speech to taking care of Sam, relaxing and becoming semi-leader again. "You know if you just focused on one thing at a time-"

"Yeah," Sam replied, running a hand through his hair bashfully, easy smile on his face. "But I didn't want to keep you waiting so-"

"Yeah, yeah." Dave answered, keeping his eyes focused on Sam's backpack because that shouldn't mean as much to him as it did. "Well, let's get going."

"Aye, aye Captain!" Sam cheered, clapping a hand against Dave's arm as he re-shouldered his backpack, mouth immediately going a mile a minute as they made their way towards the library.

Yeah, Dave was screwed.

But hell, at least he was happy.

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Santana didn't tell the other gleeks about her warning, but her ultimatum had somehow become common knowledge to them anyway. And by this, Dave meant it had become common knowledge to the New Directions kids that _mattered_, like Mike and Tina and the intervention company, Finn excluded. Zizes, oddly enough, had already come by and thrown her support behind him (should Dave be weirded out that all of his wingmen were like, the scariest chicks he knew? That said something about him as a person, he just wasn't sure what), offering her services for whenever necessary. Quinn had deigned him with an approving nod, not bothering to do anything else (not that he would have needed it, but-).

Of course, this also meant that the more…enthusiastic members of that group were trying to do a little "helping" of their own.

Dave could have _sworn_ he saw Kurt and Mike scrutinizing what had to be very elaborate plans splayed across the choir room floor, but whenever Dave had dared to get near and check them out Mike had fumbled to hide them while Kurt just plastered on a totally-innocent look that _nobody_ was buying.

When Dave went to Puck and Blaine for the details (because _somebody_ had to know) Blaine had simply shrugged, lips sealed from…whatever they were planning, and Tina had dragged Puck away before he could spill the beans because honestly, Puck didn't care. Or he sympathized with Dave. Or he was upset his new boy-toy was busy playing mastermind with Kurt. Either way Tina was guarding him like an overprotective jaguar, throwing around some serious looks of disapproval and remand whenever Dave drew near. He was…honestly surprised by the amount of expression such a tiny person could exude.

So he laid off Puck. And Tina. And avoided Kurt and Mike like the plague and accepted Blaine's supportive arm pats when no one was looking (which, he got it, that was something he was going to have to work on if he wanted anywhere near Sam) and Santana and Lauren's fist bumps and Brittany's stickers. No, he didn't know what they were for, but they were scratch-and-sniff and Sam liked them so Dave figured her contribution was probably the best out of everyone's.

The biggest problem Dave was having with the whole Sam-situation was trying to figure out if the guy would even be _willing_ to go on a date with him. Dave feared if he just went out and asked Sam he would get shot down so fast that even that Israel kid would feel good about himself; so obviously the direct approach was out the window. Sam was easy going but he wasn't _that_ easy going. He was a member of the God Squad for Christ's sake, the blond was dumb but surely some of those rules had been engrained in his head.

Which left Dave with the more difficult approach, aka, stealth wooing.

He figured if he spent enough time with Sam he could ever-so-slowly start flirting, beginning in very tiny, almost undetectable increments before gradually raising the bar, engaging Sam in full-on flirting before the blond even realized it.

Were it anyone else Dave would have deemed his plan entirely too stupid to put into consideration and given up on the idea then and there.

But it _was_ Sam. And Sam took a hint as well as he picked up on social cues. As in, he didn't. So Dave was pretty sure he could get some mutual affection going down before Sam even realized it and then, as he would have ninja'd his was into Sam's graces, there wouldn't be any conceivable reason for Sam _not_ to date Dave.

It was brilliant.

…okay, it was stupid, but it was all Dave had to work with so he would just have to manage.

The first step was to spend more time with Sam, without broadcasting it towards the rest of the school. This was mostly to avoid calling undue attention to Sam as opposed to Dave worrying about his reputation. With a combined status of football player/ junior prom king he could pretty much hang out with whoever he wanted and not be questioned for it. People would probably think he was pitying the blond or something, if anything. But that didn't mean they wouldn't _notice_, and if they noticed they might go after Sam and Dave didn't want that, there were already too many looks as it was. Azimio was buying Dave's Good Samaritan spiel with tutoring Sam, but even _he_ was starting to ask questions.

And besides that, with all the time they spent together already it was difficult trying to think of something new to help with the whole bonding process.

Dave made it a point not to go to Kurt and Mike on this one, he was a big boy, he would figure it out. Or, to be more precise, Sam would figure it out. In that he read one too many comic books and decided their "crime fighting abilities" should _totally_ be applied to an old-fashioned detective agency. Solving crimes both in and out of the school, whoever asked, they would aid.

And that was how Dave knew this Sam-thing was _definitely_ permanent. Because he couldn't shoot the blond down. He wanted to do it. He wanted to _make_ an old-fashioned detective agency thing happen.

So Dave had about…what, two days to throw together a fake case while Sam distracted himself with making them fake detective badges and inventing cool back stories because if Sam didn't get a case Dave had a feeling he would go out and _find_ one. Which was how Dave became the mastermind behind a live-reenactment of Clue, recruiting Kurt and Mike (begrudgingly) to stage "evidence" and coming up with a mystery that would adequately soothe Sam's need for adventure.

Dave wasn't surprised when it grew. He wasn't surprised that it got out of hand, or that there was a dance number, or that his "mum's the word" rule had been completely disregarded.

He _was_ surprised that it worked.

So there was something.

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Endnotes:

I'm _baaaaaaack_-

Sup everybody! Finally have a new glee story up and *gasp* I even have the second chapter started! I know, the world must be ending, look at me being all on top of things and _sterf_.

So I laid the seeds for Sam/Karofsky in the last story and hey- not just abandoning that plotline. Go me!

Enter now the trials and tribulations of Dave trying to win over a hopelessly unaware Sam Evans.

Not so surprisingly enough, this took so long because I was having issues with Title/Summary. There are about eighteen variations of the summary. Most of them anger my face. True story. Also, the working title had been "We Should Go; See the Dinosaurs" on the pure merit of having the word "dinosaurs" in it.

Still not sure if I made the right choice.

Until next time : )


	2. Say a Little Prayer

Chapter 2

Say a Little Prayer

Notes: Established Puck/Mike/Tina. Forgot to mention that last chapter for anyone who hasn't read the previous stories.

Enjoy : )

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Kurt had raised one carefully groomed eyebrow at Dave; a mock-dubious expression on his face that the football player knew was a cover for immense feelings of smugness. Kurt's hands were clasped above of his chest, elbows resting on the table in front of him for looks alone, no stability necessary because of his perfect posture, his expression reminiscent of a cat catching its prey.

This professional yet celebratory elegance was slightly put-off due to Mike's frantic movements behind Kurt, shoving papers and markers into his backpack carelessly (it was that disorganized method that had led to Dave's serendipitous pamphlet discovery all those weeks ago, you would think the dancer would learn to be more careful).

Dave stared at Kurt, doing his best to convey _"Get real, I know what you're up to"_ and _"I sort of want to use your evils to my advantage"_ with his eyes so he wouldn't actually have to, you know, _say_ it.

In front of him, Kurt raised his other eyebrow, refusing to submit, not at least without oral confirmation, because that was his loophole. Behind him Mike yanked a folder out of his backpack and let out a startled curse, papers exploding everywhere.

The depressed look the danger got on his face was almost enough for Dave to break his staring contest with Kurt. _Almost_.

Dave had bigger fishes to fry.

"Kurt," he said, tersely.

"Dave," Kurt replied, tone perfectly charming and calm which was impressive in itself, considering the amount of mad scrambling Mike was doing behind him, trying to gather up every piece of loose paper all in one go and failing miserably. Or at least, that was what Dave had discerned from his peripherals. His eyes were still on Kurt's.

"So…" he began, letting it hang there, and Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"You're scheming," Dave declared, then watched carefully for a reaction.

He got none.

Kurt looked dubious. "_I'm_ scheming?" he asked, tone implying something along the lines of "_Can you believe this guy? Such tall tales he spins."_

Dave frowned. "I apologize," he tried again, refusing to let Kurt deter him. "You're _both_ scheming."

Kurt gave him another stupidly smug smile because he wasn't going to admit anything until Dave told him what they were scheming _about_.

The smile widened. "Well now you're just talking nonsense."

There was a sound of paper sliding across the floor followed by a definite _"thump"_ and out of the corner of his eye Dave could see Mike fall to the ground face first, an armful of papers becoming airborne once more and cascading outwards to un-papered parts of the classroom. Were Dave looking at Mike he would have seen him rubbing at his face and making a depressed sound. But Dave was not looking at Mike. Dave had other things to do.

Dave stared at Kurt.

Kurt stared at Dave.

In the background Mike started to make a pathetic whimpering noise.

Dave broke eye contact first.

"Jesus _Christ_ Mike-"

"I'm not good at this!" Mike's complained, throwing a hand out to gesture to the mess around him while he stared at it morosely. "Does this _seem_ like the type of thing I would be good at?"

Dave shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, no."

Was the mess growing? It looked like it had spread. Dave wouldn't be surprised if Mike had managed that. He was the sort of guy who was great at finagling the improbable into existence. But as Kurt already _knew_ this, that begged the question why he bothered recruiting Mike to help out in the first place.

Kurt caught on to Dave's questioning look and shrugged. "What he lacks in subtlety he makes up for in enthusiasm."

"I have skills," Mike protested, shaking a fist at them before Kurt turned and gave the dancer a pointed look, which immediately shut him up. Mike dropped his fist to the floor, prodding sadly at some of the abandoned papers.

Dave rolled his eyes. "Here just-" he began, picking up an armful of papers- holy hell they really_ were_ multiplying. "Let me help."

"No!" Mike yelled, and Dave had enough experience with frantic-Mike to dodge the tackle that was thrown at him; the dancer rushing right past him before tripping over a desk and collapsing onto the floor.

Dave sighed and gave Kurt a patient look. "You okay Mike?" he asked, calling over his shoulder as he moved to pick up some more discarded papers.

A shaky fist popped up from the other side of the desk. "I have skills," Mike declared stubbornly, despite the small waver in his voice. "…_ow_."

For the first time since the meeting began, Kurt dropped his poker face, giving a sigh of his own. "That's what happens when you overreact," he lectured, helpfully pushing some papers closer towards Dave with his foot.

"Says the guy who breaks into 'Rose's Turn' every time he loses an argument."

"What was that?" Kurt asked, tone sharp as he whipped his head around to glare at desk Mike was hiding behind.

There was a distinct fearful pause.

"…nothing," Mike eventually admitted. "I said nothing. No words were said." There was a painful, drawn-out exhale. "Now I'm just…going to stay on the floor until Puck shows up." Another wheeze. "If he remembers this time."

"I texted him," Kurt informed floor-bound teen, increasing his helpfulness by _standing_ and nudging the outlying papers towards the center of the room. "But as that is probably doomed to fail, I also texted Tina, so you're good."

"Awesome," Mike said, giving Kurt an appreciative thumbs up before the arm collapsed back down again.

Dave wondered if he should start to be more concerned than he actually was. Or, he _was_ concerned, but maybe he should actually like, begin to _show_ it.

Kurt waved him off, as though he could hear what Dave was thinking. "He'll be fine; he's certainly gone through worse. Now," Kurt turned to face Dave straight on, hands positioned on his hips and adopting a look of no-nonsense. "What exactly can we do for you?"

Dave, to his credit, did _not_ allow Kurt to stare him down and went along with the game, shrugging. "What you were already planning to do."

And up went that eyebrow again. "And that was…?"

"Is this about the fake detective agency thing?" Mike asked, still on the floor and thankfully sheltered behind a desk so he was unable to witness the look of pure venom Kurt threw his way. Dave figured this was Mike's attempt to have his back.

It felt so good to send his own look of validated smugness Kurt's way. "Yes Mike," Dave replied, eyes fixed on Kurt as the smile grew across his face. "That is _exactly_ what this is about."

Mike sounded genuinely relieved when he replied. And winded. But mostly relieved.

"Oh good," he wheezed. "That's what most of those papers are about anyway."

Dave was in the middle of giving the paper in his hand a dubious once over just as Mike amended. "Or doodles of Puck. It's kind of fifty-fifty."

"I can see that," Dave declared, studying the drawing in his hands very carefully.

Kurt scoffed, giving some of the doodles a look of disdain. "You think with the amount of practice he puts into it he would get beyond stick figures."

"Don't mess with the classics man!" Mike protested, slowly starting to sit up. "If it ain't broke…"

"Fix it, dear lord fix it," Kurt mumbled. He probably wanted to take it back after the hurt look Mike sent him (Mike sort of took the wounded puppy eyes to a whole new level) and Kurt's disposition turned apologetic; he leaned across the desk and ruffled Mike's hair. Which, for some reason, was one of Mike's favorite things. Kurt was instantly forgiven.

Taking in the scene, Dave had to shake out of that feeling of fondness he had especially reserved for Mike. Mike had been first. Even if he had never been Dave's, he had always been first, and sometimes that fact hit Dave harder than it did others.

Mid-ruffle Kurt sent him a knowing look, because he was a freakin' psychic.

Dave glowered.

_Focus_.

"Look," Dave began, setting the stack of papers down on Kurt's original desk. "I just need you to say you lost something in the locker room. I'll plant some clues there, they'll lead to other clues and we'll just keep going until Sam gets bored with this or whatever."

And how was that for holding the cards to his chest?

Kurt's hand paused it's movements through Mike's hair, earning a small sound of protest that was tempered by a warning tap from Kurt, Mike immediately silenced.

"And that's the only reason why?" Kurt asked, and Dave was beset by two completely different sets of eyes, one all-knowing and down to business, the other imploring and kind, because they were all friends here and they had all survived through some pretty drastic ordeals so-

But Dave…he wanted to try this one on his own. He knew they knew. _They_ knew he knew they…well, knew. And if the only thing keeping him back was coming out and saying _"Dear lord, I wants to date me some Sam Evans and have epically rainbowtastic make-out times with him and have permanent claim to those guppy lips"_ (Santana, Dave had…yeah, he'd spending a lot of time with her) then so be it because if he _could_ say that, without worrying it was all going to fall down around him, he would.

But he wasn't. All he had was the barest of maybes and even _that_ was a long shot.

With Puck and Mike…well, they had all sort have known. Everyone else had seen that. _Dave_ had even seen that and at the time he couldn't have given two shits, it was just sort of one of those facts you knew. Like how the grass was green and you need air to breathe, you just knew that Puck and Mike were heads-over-the-moon _in_ _love_ with each other, and it didn't really register, it was just an established fact. And you don't get mad at established facts, you couldn't change them, you could only accept them as they are and go with the flow. No point in getting worked up over it.

But Dave didn't have any of that. He was playing on the knife's edge, hanging out with Sam enough to maybe be intimate with him but not so serious that he could pull back if Sam cried foul. And the thought that…well, Dave hated the idea of it, but shit didn't always work out like a goddamn movie. This was life. And life was messy and stupid and chaotic and everybody didn't _get_ to win, so Dave would just have to make do.

He wanted to handle this one on his own, exercise his own judgment and sure, if he turned out to be an even more hopeless than Mike had been then Dave was on board with some backup. He would reserve that as the emergency backup plan. But until then…

That was how Dave was able to give those eyes a nonchalant shrug (really seemed to be doing a lot of that today) and reply tersely. "The only reason you get to know."

Mike's reaction was bigger, physically pulling back from him and giving a hurt look. "_Dave_."

The football player sighed and held up his hands, placating. "Guys, I've got this one." He gave them both leveling looks, mildly pleading, "Seriously."

There was a short staring contest between him and Kurt, the other teen studying him carefully, chin held in his hand as he thought. Eventually he rolled his eyes and waved a hand at him. "Alright, fine. We'll leave it to you."

And Dave didn't quite chirp back, because he was David Karofsky and he did not _chirp_, but there was a certain tone of graciousness whenever he replied, "Thanks."

Kurt knew what he wanted. Mike probably knew too, or would figure it out later, or Kurt would just tell him (which was the most probable option as Kurt gossiped like there was no freakin' tomorrow and Dave was surprised he had held up as well as he did.)

Kurt gave him a serious look, crossing him arms. "But if you ever need help…"

Dave smiled. "Yeah, you'll be my wingmen."

Mike, having finally deemed the floor an uncomfortable place to be, finally stood up, popping his back as he sent Dave a cheeky smile. "We were thinking more like cohorts."

Dave shrugged, for what he swore was the last time. That day.

"Whatever works."

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Sam was chewing on his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took down Mike's statement, pencil traveling across the front of his notepad in a speedy, haphazard fashion.

"So you lost your…?" he gestured at Mike to fill in the blank.

"Choreography notebook," the dancer replied eagerly, sending Dave a sly wink that Sam thankfully missed. Beside him Kurt rolled his eyes, doing a poor job of "emotionally supporting" Mike, despite that being the supposed reason for his presence.

"Cho-re-o-grap-y. Note-book," Sam echoed, sounding out the words as he jotted them down. He finished with a mad flourish, thumping the pencil against the front of his notepad as though ending a sentence, and looked up at Mike seriously, thoughtful expression on his face. "What did it look like?"

"Red," Mike answered, listing off the attributes of a notebook that didn't necessarily exist. It was all for the best, they decided. It was easier to hide a thing that had no chances of being found. "70 pages; dinosaur drawing on the front."

"What kind of dinosaur?" Sam asked, not looking up from his notes.

Mike looked between Kurt and Dave. They hadn't really decided on details. "Uh…T-Rex?"

Sam paused at the hesitation, giving the victim-in-question a suspicious look, which cued a rushed answer from Mike. "Or a Velociraptor! I'm not sure, Puck drew it."

He gave a big smile on the completion of his explanation, just a little _too_ cheerful for someone who had been stolen from, but Sam didn't pick up on it. The blond shrugged, nodding like that was a legitimate excuse (and it was; Puck's way of staking claim to Mike revolved around doodling over most of the things he owned. The behavior was pretty much limited to the dancer as Tina would _"Not put up with that shit, it is not as endearing as you think it is. Seriously Puck.")_.

Mike let out a quiet sigh; crisis avoided, and sent Dave a cheeky smile.

So far, so good.

"You would think," Sam began, quiet laugh tumbling past his lips as he finished up a rough sketch of the 'missing' notebook. "With all the practice he does, he would be better at that."

"Tell me about it," Kurt mumbled, glancing off to the side and giving out a small _"umf"_ whenever Mike elbowed him in the stomach, never taking his eyes off Sam.

"I have not idea what you're talking about," Mike replied enthusiastically, forcing a manic smile onto his face to cover up his overprotective tendencies in all things that regarded his boyfriend.

Luckily Sam just waved him off, deciding that super defensive Mike was not a being he wished to do verbal battle with, and moved on, tapping the notepad in his hands. "Okay, whatever. So the notebook was taken from your locker?"

Mike was still trapped in hyper-tense _you-will-say-no-bad-things-of-my-man_ land so Kurt had to elbow him back into the present, forcing the teen to let out a startled gasp. Mike followed this with a glare to Kurt and looked back at Sam, shoving his hand into his back pocket to root around for something.

"Yes!" Mike declared, a little too enthusiastically. "Yes, it was taken from my locker which was why we are here, in the locker room, where my locker is, and-" he shoved a crinkled up piece of paper into Sam's chest, nodding seriously. "That is an inventory of all the stuff in my locker as of now. I mean," he continued, Sam giving him a perfectly baffled look. "Now that I've taken my backpack and homework out of it and stuff."

Sam continued to stare at Mike as though he were a crazy person. Which wasn't, actually, that far off base.

Mike struggled not to make this look like the most obviously staged thing ever and failed, beginning to fidget helplessly. "So if you want to _inspect_ my locker, for clues and stuff, that's a list of the stuff that should be in there."

The dancer looked back towards Sam, the blond still sporting a mildly pained look on his face. There were dots there, he could see them, he was simply unable to connect them. Dave shared a quick look with Kurt who was, most likely, wondering how this whole thing hadn't fallen apart by this point, and motioned to Mike's locker.

"Perhaps," he started and never had Sam looked more relieved for his interference, getting his _'Oh good, Dave will light the way' _look that Dave had to convince himself wasn't strictly exclusive to him but secretly wished it was, that he was the only one who got that particular facial expression, and then he cleared his throat, reminding himself not to be such a damn girl when they had shit to do. "What Mike means is that if there are things in his locker that _aren't_ his…"

He lets it trail off, giving Sam a meaningful look, and he could see the light bulb finally turn on, huge smile spreading across his face.

"That they're clues," he finished, clapping a hand on Dave's shoulder because he was proud of their teamwork. They shared a quiet moment, giving each other the two goofiest smiles ever (Dave couldn't help it, he just couldn't sometimes) and Kurt ruined it, clearing his throat and bringing Dave back into reality, reminding him he had a certain blond to corral.

"So we'll leave this to you two," Kurt decreed, covering up his amusement and giving Dave a knowing look. He grabbed Mike's arm gently, beginning to herd him out of the mostly-empty locker room. "Just send us a text if you find anything out!" he called over his shoulder, and with that Dave and Sam were left alone, standing in front of Mike's open locker.

Sam grinned cheerfully, shoving his notepad back into his backpack and rooting around for a camera he did not, in fact, have. It only took him a few minutes to realize this but by then Dave had his camera out and waiting in his hand, giving it over to the enthusiastic blond with no argument. The other teen smiled some more, immensely pleased with this turn of events, and zeroed in on the locker, snapping what was assuredly going to be far too many pictures.

Eventually Sam would find the crumpled up tickets to a community theater production of Beauty and the Beast Dave had planted at the bottom of the locker (it wasn't like Dave had gotten them for him and Sam or anything, and then totally chickened out at the last second. Nope, it wasn't like that at all).

Dave would give him ten minutes before he interceded. Until then, might as well let Sam have a good time.

Out of the corner of his eye Dave caught a movement by the locker room's entrance, nothing major, and he glanced over at it habitually, just to take stock of whoever was entering to know if any counter-measures would need to be exercised. If it was one of the glee kids, he would be fine. If it was an underclassmen, also fine, most of them were too scared to go anywhere near him. Any upperclassmen he would have to threaten or establish dominance with threatening eye contact (he practiced with Santana and Zizes sometimes, it was fun. Scary, but fun). Dave figured out of all the options it would most likely be a glee kid wanting to see _"Sam & Dave's Detective Agency"_ in action for a few laughs. Dave couldn't blame them, it _was_ easy entertainment.

Dave was right, in a way. It was a glee kid, it just- it wasn't any of the guys. And it certainly wasn't any of the girls he would have pictured finding this scene particularly hysterical.

There, hovering in the doorway was one Rachel Berry, staring at him with somehow disproportionately wide eyes, like they were larger than someone her size should be able to have. He glanced at her quickly, took a moment to process that he had indeed taken in the image of the Rachel Berry Sam was always telling stories about, noted her clothes weren't quite as horrible as Santana talked them up to be, then glanced back again to see if she had moved.

She was in the exact same position he had seen her in five seconds before, still peeking around the doorframe, eyes zeroed-in on all things Karofsky.

Dave was beginning to understand why Kurt used the phrase _"manic intensity"_ to describe the short-statured Jewish girl.

He turned away quickly, though he knew she had seen him, and caught up on Sam's progress, the blond now moving out of the "take pictures" stage and onto the "measure/smell/inspect-very-closely" stage of locker clue-finding. Dave figured he had at least five minutes before he actually got to bagging any evidence, so he turned back towards Berry, giving her a long stare-down that hopefully said something along the lines of _"I can do what I want so back off"_ without being overly aggressive about it. The last thing he wanted was for Hudson to get on his case for freaking out his girlfriend. Dave wanted submission, not fear of bodily harm.

Her expression didn't change any, nor did her posture. It was like she was perpetually stuck in doorway limbo, living part of her life in the hallway and forever gazing into the locker room for answers to mysteries she couldn't hope to comprehend.

Dave sent her an irritated look.

She did nothing.

Dave raised his eyebrows, going so far as to open himself up for questions.

She continued to do nothing.

Dave sort of wanted to throw a shoe at her, just to see if he could ruin the established pattern.

In the seconds he took to fight this urge (and feel bad about it, because throwing shoes at girls was never polite), Rachel did nothing.

It was a very productive couple of seconds.

Just as he was about to chalk up this exchange as the furthest he would get in his dealings with Rachel Berry, the girl stirred, finally done with her reconnaissance, and frantically waved him over. She was gnawing at her bottom lip, worry clearly written across her features, which was the only reason Dave decided to see what she had to say. Had he been dealing with her _"bottomless pits of unmatchable bossy-ness"_ (Sam's words), Dave wouldn't have consented. He didn't need to justify his actions to anyone.

But she was here, and he had time to kill, and she would probably stalk him with that creepy wide-eyed look if he didn't appease her curiosities at some point, so he might as well get it over with now.

When he drew close she motioned him into the hallway, making a show of checking for other occupants which was…well, it was nice. Now Dave didn't have to. He could just sit back, listen to some concerned spiel and-

He was being dragged down the hallway, he noted absently, still in disbelief that such a tiny, delicate looking person could latch onto his arm with such unyielding determination. She steered them into an empty classroom just as Dave tried to shake her off, still baffled by this newest turn of events.

He collected himself in time to remember he would normally be upset by any manhandling and glared at the petite girl, making an effort not to cross his arms because Rachel Berry couldn't make him defensive. "What the hell Berry-?"

"What are you doing?" she whispered, as though they were still in the locker room and had to worry about Sam being just five feet from them.

Dave glowered at her; he knew the appropriate response to this one. "What I want, and I don't need permission-"

She glared right back at him, hands propped on her hips as she gave him a look of righteous fury. "You don't _need_ permission to run somebody out of school but that doesn't mean you should do it!"

It hit like a physical blow, his lungs seizing in his chest (he had apologized, he knew that wasn't enough but he apologized-) and it took a second before he remembered to breathe, that he _needed_ to do that, and he felt his glare falter, though he pressed on. It was Rachel Berry. Rachel Berry couldn't hurt him.

She charged onward, words spilling out of her mouth in a nonstop stream Sam had often tried to emulate. "Look, I don't know why you're doing what you're doing and I don't know why everyone else is just standing around like they're okay with it and I want you to know," she breathed and took a moment to steady herself, then looked him straight in the eye. "I want you to know that I'm glad you're doing it."

Dave had his mouth open, some condescending, insincere retort posed on his tongue, and he had to stop to process it, closing his mouth to just stare at her.

Berry actually started fidgeting, though it was very mild, her confidence only vaguely wavering. "I know I-" she cut off, then looked at him again, brown eyes searching. "I know we're weird, and I know people don't like to get near us and I don't want to freak you out but what you're doing with Sam…" She titled her head to the side, allowing a small, charming smile. "It's really nice. And I didn't really believe it when you said you turned over a new leaf, even after Kurt and Santana vouched for you, but I'd like to thank you, even though it's weird," her eyes lowered at the qualification because to her he was just another mindless crowd-follower, and feelings and looking deeper weren't in his nature. "For being friends with Sam."

There was a short silence where Dave didn't now how to respond, hadn't seen this coming, not after all the stories of how self-centered Rachel was, about the ego and the drive and the bluntness. Eventually Rachel started talking again, fiddling with a gold ring on her finger.

"I know we bring people down," she said. "I mean, the glee club. Finn and Quinn were the most popular kids in school and they still got slushied because of us." She twisted the ring some more. "Because of me," she added quietly.

They had another quiet lull but it wasn't uncomfortable because Dave knew he didn't have to say anything at all, the only thing he had to do this time was listen, and Dave could handle that.

Sure enough, her head snapped up a second later, determination fierce in her eyes. "But you can do whatever you want and no one will question it and you probably don't know it but you keep Sam safe from the bullying, even if he's in glee club, just by being there. You protect him."

She sighed and closed her eyes, squeezing her hands together like she was focusing on this one big thing. Eventually she glanced up at him through her eyelashes, gradually staring at him, head held high and proud. "So what I'm asking you is to please keep protecting him. I know it might not mean a lot to you but-" She shrugged her shoulders, finishing quietly, "Some of us should be safe."

He stared at her, so…it was bizarre, and he wanted to yell that _of course_ he knew about all the shit he warded away from Sam Evans, he knew that his presence was a shield, and he never took that responsibility for granted. It had been one of the things Dave hated when his world had been about Mike, that despite how genuinely _good_ he was and how non-conflicting and how the dancer was just all around kind and _decent _he still got treated like shit while guys like Dave, the ones that shoved kids into lockers and dumped slushies on their favorite clothes and brought bring them down because _somebody_ had to be brought down, they were praised. They were safe because they were the attackers.

That shouldn't be right. He knew that was a stupid thing to harp on because it would never change, but it shouldn't be right.

It occurred to Dave that what Berry was doing right now was a huge risk for her. That she had spouted out her words before letting him get in edgewise because for all she knew he was hanging out with Sam for laughs and the side effects of his company could easily be taken away. That her commenting on it _could_ take it all away, simply for being a bigger heart-to-heart than most teenage boys would consider putting up with.

He wondered if this was what it was like to be in glee club all the time. That this was the kind of real, meaningful conversations that they had.

Based on his past interactions with Kurt, with Blaine and Mike and Santana, he was willing to say it was.

It was no wonder then, that Hudson refused to leave them. Once you got sucked in, it was difficult to sacrifice a group of people like that.

…even if it _was_ filled with the 'specialist, unique shining stars'.

Dave nodded slowly, trying to show that he knew, that he couldn't completely give up how he acted but he knew what she meant.

"I will," he promised, holding that brown-eyed gaze with his own. "Sam's my friend."

Rachel blinked, clearly surprised his answer was lacking in insults and nodded, mostly to herself, he thought, like she was processing what he said.

"Okay then," she murmured, swallowing. She gave him a meaningful look, like she wanted to study him further but didn't want to push her luck, and smoothed her hands on the front of her dress, moving to walk out the door.

Trying not to take up anymore of his time than she had to.

It was, unmistakably, sad. Dave found that he wanted to hug her, even after all the stories Sam had told him.

But there were limits and rules and he had a feeling that while she was willing to be open minded she was still too wary to accept a hug, so he called out after her instead, hands fidgeting with the side of his jeans.

"Listen Berry," he said, watching her whip back around just as she made it to the door. "You're not so bad."

He had meant for it to be off-hand but sincere, because…well, she wasn't that bad, and anyone who stood up for Sam, who stood up for her friends, was good in Dave's book.

It started off small, tentative, but eventually a huge, true smile broke across Rachel's face. There was the barest possibility of teary eyes as well, so Dave decided to look at the floor instead. Plausible deniability and all that.

He shrugged, would later claim he was uncomfortable to cover up a sudden wave of bashfulness. "Tell anyone I said that…"

"Mums the word," Rachel chirped back happily, mimicking a zipping motion across her lips, and Dave glowered.

"Seriously," he said. "Not even Hudson."

"I can keep a secret," Rachel urged, hands moving to her hips. The expression on his face must have clearly spoken of how little he believed that statement and Rachel burst out laughing, grinning at the taller teen. "You've been talking to Kurt, haven't you?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"He's been talking to _me_," he explained, suddenly interested in his shoes. "I just haven't figured out to stop listening."

That earned him another trill of laughter, and when he looked up he could tell she was attempting to suppress her beaming, turning towards the door so that she was looking over her shoulder. "You're a better guy than you give yourself credit for David," she said, her smile turning a little sadder. "But I-" she held up a finger to her lips, winking. "Mums the word," she repeated.

With that she turned back towards the door, attempting to make her exit just the damn thing flew open, revealing a mildly perturbed Sam Evans.

The other two occupants were frozen in surprise, which was alright, because Sam felt like doing the talking anyway.

He pointed a wary finger at Rachel. "Kidnapping partners in crime? Not cool Rachel," he declared, squinting his eyes at her ludicrously. "Not. Cool."

"Sorry," the shorter girl replied, fondness unmistakable in her tone. "He's all yours now." She gave him a couple pats on the cheek as she walked past him and turned, sending Dave one last knowing look before disappearing out of sight entirely.

Sam watched after her, eyebrows furrowed in that confused expression he often wore, and Dave couldn't help but smile. It had, after all, been a very productive afternoon.

"What did she need?" Sam asked, hands fidgeting with the edge of his 'evidence bag'; two crumpled tickets inside.

"Just wanted to know if I was wasting your time," Dave didn't-quite lie. "As it turns out, I meet her approval."

"Awesome," Sam chirped, looking relieved. He smiled at Dave hesitantly. "I thought for sure she would have chewed you out or something."

And yeah, Dave's grin might have gotten dopey again, but he knew Sam would never judge him. "Nah, we're cool."

It was nice, Dave thought, that he was slowly but surely collecting this small group of indispensable friends. A guy could get used to that. With luck, there would be nothing to _keep_ _him_ from getting used to that.

But Dave wasn't a guy who relied on luck to get him through things.

He relied on planning. He relied on adapting. He would rely on _working_, because if he wanted to date Sam Evans, he would have to earn that privilege.

But Dave was willing to do that.

And riskier still, he was willing to hope for it.

On a wing and a prayer, he would hope.

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Endnotes:

_Gahhh_, ending chapters, why is it so hard? Sometimes. Why is it so hard _sometimes_? (Because if I don't specify the rest of the damn chapters will be out to get me, as they can be vindictive jerkfaces).

So Frosted Heaven suggested I add some Rachel Berry up in this business, which was all kinds of inspiring. It's like discovering a tool you forgot that you owned, and joy of joys it gives you so many opportunities to screw with Dave Karofksy!

…I might have lost the metaphor in there somewhere, but the point remains. Rachel Berry is now in the game.

(And you know, maybe I'll remember to use other people too. And not play my favorites. Except Mike. That goes without saying).

Many thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! Cem, Sammiam, Frosted Heaven, and Abby (Happy Birthday! Here is some Dave/shameless fluff and good feelings your way!).

In regards to Sam, I think of him as slightly dopey, maybe a little scatterbrained but always enthusiastic. I mean to do him no disservice; he is tied for my second favorite glee-boy (after Mike, of course. And tied with Puck. Bro power!).

So…I'm going to go figure out the next chapter. I'm thinking there will be theories. And more people pointing and being like "_Does no one else notice this? Because this is notice-worthy." _or something along those lines.

Until next time!


	3. Disconnect the Phone

Chapter 3

Disconnect the Phone (So Nobody Knows)

Notes: _This is a flashback _

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"_The best way to go about this-" Kurt had explained in that quiet, authoritive tone he seemed so fond of. "-is to keep the suspects and all clue-making limited to the Glee club."_

"_Right," Dave agreed. "They're pretty much the only ones who will be lenient when…" he trailed off, thinking for the right way to phrase this._

"_When the accusations start flying?" _

_This suggestion was prompted from the ever-cheerful Mike, who was simply pleased he had wrangled Dave into his/Kurt's/Quinn's/everyone-in-glee-club's scheming ways._

"_That would be a good way of putting it," Kurt decided, absently nodding in confirmation, mind already moving onto the next thing. "Now, the question is what do we plant?"_

"_Sheet music?" Mike proposed, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. Between the three of them they had managed to wrangle all the loose strewn papers back into it in a semi-organized fashion, much to Mike's protest. The organization cramped his easy-going style._ _He backed down after a couple threatening glares, and was currently keeping himself in the other two's good graces by keeping his hands away from any of the zippers._

_Kurt shook his head, sending Mike a warning look. "Band kids use sheet music."_

"_So does the jazz band," Dave added. This shouldn't be this hard. They had to keep it generic enough that they still had a sizable range of suspects, but specific enough that it screamed "Glee club"._

"_We could just use some of _**_our_**_ sheet music," Mike insisted, already beginning the dig through his backpack for his own music notebook, ignoring the other teens displeased looks. _

"_But then it wouldn't be that great a clue, now would it?" Kurt mused, lifting an eyebrow once Mike swiveled his confused face back towards them. "It needs to be something that's out of place. Distinctly _**_not_**_ yours." He waved at the mass of papers shoved into Mike's binder. "Sam's more likely to think a piece of discarded sheet music is a result of your scatterbrained organization system, not something suspect."_

_Mike paused, glowering at the other two teens for a second before he conceded to Kurt's logic. It made sense. _

_Dave sighed. "So we're back at square one," he groused, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling._

_He should have known deep in his soul, and upon reviewing their past conversation he could see that Kurt was leading him and Mike along, governing them towards a particular goal. Asking questions that he already had answers to and just wondering how long it would be before they saw the light and surrendered to his all-knowing craftiness._

_Dave turned his gaze to the Broadway-loving teen and fixed him with a suspicious look._

_And…yeah, there was that expression of all-consuming smugness they had all grown to know and love. _

_Kurt raised an eyebrow at him._

"_Just spill it," Dave grumbled, leveling a finger at him. What happened to nice, non-judgemental and not-pushy Kurt? Dave sort've missed that guy. He had less smarm about him (not that it wasn't well earned or whatever, but-)_

"_We-eeell," Kurt started, drawing out the vowel and appropriately capturing Mike's attention (from where it had been tracing over one of Puck's ninja doodles just seconds before)._

_There was a predatory glint in Kurt's eye as he stared Dave down, smirk firmly in place. "Do you still have those tickets I got for you?"_

_Which was a rhetorical question, really. It might as well have not been a question at all. Kurt could have just said 'Hey, remember all that time you wasted trying to pick out the perfect local outing for you and Sam? Remember that favor I did for you? Remember those hours I spent listening to you argue the merits of a Disney musical vs a Kander and Ebb piece and demanding _**_my_**_ input until you eventually decided on the one that would probably have the shinier costumes and _**_then_**_ wasting all that effort (including _**_my_**_ time and effort) when you eventually chickened out? And hey- you're a sentimental guy right? Sentimental about time and efforts wasted and moments of cowardice so yeah, I'm pretty sure you still have the tickets carefully hidden under a pile of papers in your second desk drawer, because that's just the kind of guy you are.'_

_And then Dave would just say, "Yep," and then go hide under his bed for fear of Kurt's revenge._

_But that wasn't what Kurt had said; Dave had to reply to the question that was actually _**_asked_**_._

_Though as luck would have it, the answer was pretty much the same anyway._

"_Yep," Dave replied, consciously not paying attention when that smirk turned devilish._

"_Perfect," Kurt replied._

_Without even looking up from Puck's latest doodle, Mike reached out and rubbed a comforting hand against Dave's arm. "It's less scary if you avoid looking at his eyes," he suggested._

_Which, while not necessarily polite, was definitely an idea with merit._

_Kurt allowed them the next ten minutes to stare at Puck's rockstar accountant (it was titled and everything, so there was no arguing this) before he got fed up with it confiscated their backpacks, making a point to stare threateningly into both of their eyes should anymore funny business occur._

_No more funny business occurred. _

_Though Mike and Dave _**_may_**_ (and this was a very hypothetical 'may') have held hands. You know, for moral support. _

_Not because Kurt made them do it for laughs or anything._

_Not at all._

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"Okay," Sam chirped, staring down at the phone in his hand as Dave re-entered the room, tray loaded with a small plate of cookies and two glasses of lemonade balanced carefully in his hands (if his mother taught him anything it was to be a kind and generous host. She would have his hide for not showing the proper amount of warmth in hospitality. This was something even Azimio had come to respect). Dave shut the door behind him with his foot and settled the tray on top of his desk.

In his peripherals, Sam waved a hand at him absently, focused on his texts. "Mike says the tickets definitely aren't his and Tina and Puck don't know anything about them either." He snapped the phone closed and looked up at Dave, excitement in his eyes. "That means we definitely have our first clue." He tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and picked up the 'evidence' bag. "We are on a roll now."

Sam held the bag up to eye-level, staring at its contents critically (as he had many times in the past half hour) before bringing it down to his lap, smoothing out the crumpled pieces of paper through the Ziploc plastic with extreme care.

Dave had his body turned towards his desk, giving the appearance of messing with the tray and napkins, and tried not to stare at Sam.

He hated this. Stuff like- well, these moments. These quiet moments where Sam wasn't loud-Sam or necessarily serious-Sam or-

It was easy to forget there was a person under there, sometimes. Because Sam could be so loud and so cheerful and so enthusiastically bound for whatever whim happened to hit him. But beneath those layers was a down-to-earth Sam. A Sam that had experienced homelessness and heartbreak, betrayal and distrust and the same, and more, amount of the usual of crap teenagers usually end up doling out upon each other and the rest of the world. It could be argued (at least by Dave, by those who cared) that Sam had lived just a little more than the rest of them. He had dealt with the lack of basic necessities, worked through it best he could, and throughout it all kept that same Sam Evans smile plastered across his face.

Sometimes Dave wondered if the loud, dopey, dumb-blond shtick was Sam at all, or if it was just a shell Sam used in order to get by. A defense mechanism, maybe. Like with Dave and bullying. Post-bullying.

Sometimes Dave wondered if only part of it was real, or if Sam just enhanced what he naturally had just so nobody could hurt him, because if you smiled when they wanted to see you sad or angry then they could never really win. (But then Dave remembered certain fights in certain locker rooms that ended with black eyes and other bruises, and knew that when the limit had been reached Sam would take no prisoners when it came to doing the right thing).

It was, but it wasn't, Dave thought. It wasn't an act. Maybe it had started as one and Sam had gotten so accustomed to it he could never figure out an ending, because it was comfortable and safe. But Dave thought, or liked to think, that this was Sam in relaxed company. That the loud-Sam wasn't the act and neither was the serious one, it was both in equal parts.

Just- when they were here, and it was just _them_ and people he felt safe with, Sam felt okay to be just a little bit more. To be a little more goofy and whimsical because life was hard and sometimes you _had_ to embark on silly, nonsensical quests because you needed that lightness.

The more Dave thought about it, the more he knew he was right. And he-

He hated Sam sometimes, because he was right. For existing like that. He hated how hard he was falling for him, he hated the fact they would probably never have a real conversation, or that Dave was stupid enough to think that stealth-wooing would work.

But he had to try. He _had_ to.

For Sam's stubborn insistence in exploring the extraordinary, if not for anything else.

"Why do you think they did it?"

"What?"

Sam's question shook Dave out of his silent musing, and when he looked over the blond sent him a brief, earnest look before returning his attention to the tickets in his lap.

"There's three things we're looking for right?" Sam asked, running a distracted hand through his hair. "Means, motive, and opportunity. So I'm wondering what exactly _is_ the motive for stealing a choreography notebook. That's the most important part right?"

The blond finished his say and glanced at Dave, looking for confirmation. The standing teen nodded, showing that he followed Sam's logic.

"I mean," Sam started, leaning back to examine the tickets at a distance. "I know Mike has all the best moves, but he probably would have shared them if anyone had asked." He frowned down at the tickets, thumb stroking across the bottom seam in the plastic. "At least, if any of his _friends_ had asked."

Sam furrowed his brows and looked back at Dave, who may or may not have some mild alarm building in the pit of his stomach.

He should have given Sam more credit. _Way_ more credit. Maybe they should have taken Mike's lucky hairbrush or something-

"So I think," Sam continued, oblivious to Dave's inner panic attack. "That the tickets were planted to make it _look_ like one of the glee kids did it right? Because they're the only one's who would ever admit to liking musicals." The blond stared off into the distance, mind churning, and thumped the bag of tickets against his legs. "This feels a little heavy handed."

"What if-" the words were out of Dave's mouth before his brain had any chance to catch up, but Sam was staring at him earnestly, more than ready for his explanation, so Dave sucked it up and made it work. "You're jumping to conclusions," he suggested. At Sam's immediate frown Dave held up a placating hand, gesturing for the blond to hear him out. "We don't want to exclude anything right? We have to look at all the angles." At Sam's nod, he continued. "So yes, the clue _could_ have been planted. Or maybe one of your glee club friends is playing a prank or maybe one of them is feeling especially vindictive towards Puck or Tina and is taking it out on Mike or something…" Dave trailed off and scratched the back of his head, wondering if any of this babble was making sense. Dear god, he was becoming Mike.

No. Nononononooo-

Dave liked Mike, but he _especially_ enjoyed have a stable outlook on life. You know, dependent and steadfast; _not_ spazzy.

"Dude," Sam began, wonder strong enough in his voice that Dave felt okay to risk a glance his way, only to see Sam reevaluating the tickets with a renewed sense of fascination. "That could _totally_ be it. And then," he said, hopping up and grabbing onto Dave's shoulder excitedly. "They could have done the heavy-handed ticket planting to make us _think_ it was someone outside the glee club even though it wasn't!" He rocked back on his heels, conspiratorial look adorning his face. "They think we're bad detectives."

Dave scoffed on reflex, bumping his elbow against Sam's side. "They're clearly underestimating us."

"Exactly!" Sam cheered. "Now they're _making_ it look like a case because they _know_ we're on the case. Not like anyone else."

And with this explanation Sam flopped back down on Dave's bed, content smile on his face.

He looked up at Dave cheerfully though half-lidded eyes (God-_stupid_-Dave wished he had a camera because that look sucked the air out of him, seeing Sam so relaxed likethat on _his bed-_). "At least they're making it a challenge right?"

Instead of answering Dave chose to nod, turning his attention back to the tray on his desk and deciding to hell with it, he would move it to the bed.

He was willing to risk a few crumbs and spills to keep a contented Sam _right there_ for just a little bit longer.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"So," Sam said, talking around a mouthful of cookie as he jotted suspects down on his big yellow notepad. "In total we have me, Mike, Finn, Joe, Artie, Rory, Kurt, Blaine, Santana, Rachel, Quinn, Brittany, Mercedes, Sugar, Puck, and Tina. Oh, and maybe Zizes, for Puck you know. Now obviously we can scratch off me and Mike," Sam crossed off the names as he read them, then gave his list another glance over. "And probably Joe too. Upstanding kind of guy, devout Christian, definitely not interested in stealing. I would exclude Quinn for the same reasons but…" he made a vague waving motion, eyes still glued on the suspect in question. "She can have these moments of extreme, like, craziness." He looked up at Dave, eyebrows lifted. "It's kind've intense."

He stared down at the list, chewing on the end of his pencil. "On second thought, let's just put her in the _'Immediate investigation'_ column."

Dave nodded and began scribbling down his own notes. Method acting, Kurt had called it. "Sounds good to me," he replied, hiding his smile behind a cookie. Sam didn't need his input to keep going, but Dave figured it was always nice to get a verbal confirmation to show that he was on the same page.

"Okay," Sam continued, sending him a brief smile before getting back down to business. "Mercedes is also on the God Squad but again, she has that crazy-diva psychosis thing she can enter and _poof_ all logic and reasonableness, gone. But…" Sam shrugged, spinning his pencil in one hand while the other tapped against the notepad. "She's not really interested in dancing. Or has a particular vendetta against any of the Hebr-Asian Fusion," Sam waved his pencil at Dave's raised eyebrow, acknowledging his surprise at the trio's name but not deeming it worthy enough to stop their current track of conversation. "So we'll put her…in the _'Secondary investigation'_ column," Sam decided, totally making up the names of said columns as he went along.

On his notepad Dave titled his column _'Backup investigation'_, firmly deciding they would just stick to their original pool of suspects.

Dave tapped his pencil against the side of his head, staring at the list of remaining glee kids thoughtfully. _Method. Acting_. "So at the moment we have exactly two motives to work with. Number one is that someone legitimately wants the dance moves for whatever reason. Number two is the act of _depriving_ Mike of his choreography, which suggests hostility towards Mike himself or, more realistically, someone attacking Mike to get at Tina or Puck, and honestly, the latter is the most probable." He looked up at Sam to see him nodding in agreement, no confusion behind those eyes, and decided to continue. "So of the remaining people, who could possibly have those motives? Or, I guess, _not_ have those motives, so we can scratch them off."

He allowed Sam a few minutes of quiet contemplation as he studied the list himself, trying to discern possibilities based on what information Sam had given him. And then trying to figure out how to milk this out for as long as possible.

Yeah…there needed to be more people in the _'Immediate investigation'_ column.

"I think we can scratch off Rory too," Sam decided. "He gets peer pressured sometimes but he always comes through in the end. Plus, he's good friends with Mike and Puck. It's probably not him."

"Maybe that's what they _want_ us to think," Dave suggested, earning a surprised look from Sam. "If Rory's working with someone it would be the perfect crime."

"That's collusion," Sam declared sagely. "And that's something we'll focus on later. For now we try to figure out who the main suspect would be and _then_ we move on. Means and opportunity, remember?"

Which…all made very much sense, but Dave was still stuck on Sam's use of 'collusion', staring at the blond and feeling impressed. Sam picked up on this after a few seconds and gave a cheeky grin, tapping his pencil against the side of his head cheerfully. "I've been beefing up my detective skills."

"It shows," Dave admitted, for lack of anything better to say.

It felt incredibly lame the moment it left his mouth, but Sam seemed to revel in it, taking a moment to glow with pride before going back to work.

"So for now, Rory's off the list," Sam muttered, focusing on his paper but not hiding the grin still plastered across his face.

Dave was going to go ahead and give himself a point for that one. Start a numerical value system to give the illusion of their relationship success or something.

It was a nice thought.

"What about Kurt?" Dave asked, trying to get his head back in the (investigating) game. "He was with Mike when he contacted us so he's free and clear, right?"

Dave was about to deem Kurt innocent when he was met by a drawn out hum from Sam, sounding almost…dubious?

Dave sent the blond a leveling look. Sam didn't back down an inch. Instead he just shrugged his shoulders.

Eventually, Dave blurted, "Are you serious?"

"Well he _isn't_ good at dancing," Sam explained honestly, gesturing his hands as if to say _what-can-you-do_? "He would have the easiest time getting the tickets and," Sam leaned in closer, dropping his voice down despite the fact there was no one around to do any eavesdropping. "I've noticed him and Mike hanging out a lot lately. Like," Sam lifted his eyebrows, trying to convey some hidden meaning that _of course_ had to do with notebook theft and _not_ other social collusions. "_A lot_ Dave."

The blond leaned back on the bed, creating notes with renewed fervor. "What if Kurt was trying to improve his dancing skills for his NYADA audition and wanted something new and fresh to impress the audition lady right?" Sam asked, not bothering to wait for an answer, not even for Dave to protest his use of the word 'fresh'. "But like, maybe the choreography wasn't finished, or it was personal, and Mike _couldn't_ show it to Kurt but Kurt really needed it because, let's face it, Kurt needs a lot of time to practice."

The sounds of Sam's pencil got louder, the pencil flying across the paper more urgently as Sam came to the apex of his theory. "Kurt has access to the locker room and is crafty enough to not only _recruit_ us, but throw off the trail by planting a red herring and by being _there_ for the beginning of our investigation, therefore _almost_ getting himself excluded from the suspect pool." Sam was practically bouncing in his seat in an attempt to contain his excitement, and while he was so very, very wrong and yet simultaneously _right_, Dave had to push aside the contradictions just to focus on capturing that stupidly proud expression on Sam's face as he drew to his conclusion, grinning at Dave because it was _their_ victory, not just his.

And that…yeah, that was all kinds of nice.

This was all kinds of nice.

"I'm putting Kurt on the _'Immediate investigation'_ list. Just, you know, to be safe."

Sam added the last part as an attempt to be modest, or maybe just to cover his ass if his theory turned out to be completely unsupported, but either way Dave didn't call him out on it. Even if part of him preferred when Sam totally owned his speculations, because that meant he wasn't afraid of Dave ever tearing him down if they were wrong.

Despite it all, there was still some fear there. Some doubt. Not that- it wasn't like Dave hadn't earned it, it just stung a little, was all.

It would be a slow road to total reparation. Dave just needed to remember that. Keep his eyes on the prize.

Dave cleared his throat, trying to clear out a lump he suddenly found in it. "So if Kurt was trying to uh…get the edge on the competition, wouldn't Rachel be trying to do the same thing, since her future is also on the line?"

Mentally, Dave apologized to Rachel. He had grown to like her, after that little speech she had given him. He didn't _want_ to subject her to on-a-mission-Sam, but it couldn't be helped.

Sam thought about this for a second, then shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. Rachel's more of a control freak; she would want to do her own choreography plus," he leaned in again, and Dave was starting to think this had more to do with the spy movies they had been watching than for the actual _need_ for whispering. "She does _not_ have the same troubles in the uh, dance department, if you know what I'm saying." He finished this with a wink and then leaned back, thankfully focused on his notes and unable to witness Dave's face heat up.

He covered his flush by bringing his notepad up to eye-level, taking great pains in investigating each and every name. "So is she in the backup- I mean, is she in the _'Secondary investigation'_ column or crossed off altogether?"

"Hmm…" Sam mumbled, tapping his pencil against his protruded lower lip. "She _was _willing to throw her friendship with Kurt under the bus to beef up her chances at NYADA, so I'm going to say secondary, since she can be like, impulsive and stuff. And the chances of her actually _having_ tickets to lose is like, the highest of anyone. So yeah, secondary."

"Then what about Finn?" Dave prompted, jotting Rachel's name down in the _'Backup'_ column. "He's dating Rachel _and_ lives with Kurt, wouldn't that increase his chances for…burglary, I guess?"

When he looked back to Sam the blond was sporting a mildly disappointed look, like he knew Dave could do better.

"_Co-llu-sion_ Dave." Sam patiently explained with an exasperated sigh. "It's like you don't even listen to me. Yes, Finn _could_ be working with Rachel or Kurt but by himself the guy's too big of a teddy bear to ever steal anything. Or smart enough to figure out _how_ to steal something." Which was incredibly rich, coming from Sam, but Dave made a point to restrain any chuckles.

Sam continued, "As it stands Finn doesn't really _need_ any choreography, and if he did he would just ask, and he's more concerned with keeping the glee club united and happy so he wouldn't try to mess that up." Sam finished his spiel by scratching Finn's name off the list with a mad flourish. "And with that, I declare Finn innocent." He paused before adding, "Not including any chances of collusion."

"Should we start a _'Possible Collusion'_ column?" Dave offered, half-joking.

He would have been entirely joking, but he had spent enough time with Sam to know the blond could decide that was an awesome idea.

He was proven right a few seconds later, when Sam began furiously erasing and nodded. "Nice thinking, that will save us time later."

A smile tugged at the corner of Dave's lips but he kept his face straight, dutifully adding the newest column. "I live to serve."

"Well, it's always nice to be good at what you do."

It was a joke, quick and casual, and Dave had to force himself to keep focused so he wouldn't be stuck in la-la land, celebrating it.

"So, uh-" he began, tracing his finger along the names of the remaining candidates. "Who else could possibly have the _'need for secret choreography'_ motive?"

Sam shrugged and looked thoughtful, either not-bothered or not-noticing Dave brushing off his joke. "Inside the glee club, I would say Brittany." Upon Dave's justifiably doubtful look (he had _met_ Brittany, and criminal mastermind she was _not_), Sam rushed to explain his theory. "It wouldn't be vindictive or anything, but what if she really wanted to see what was inside the notebook?"

"How would she have gotten it?" Dave asked, legitimately curious as opposed conveying the doubt he couldn't help but have. Yeah, he wanted to call bullshit, but if Sam actually had a theory…

Well, Sam knew these people better than he did. Dave would have to take his word for it.

When his question was met with a small, drawn-out pause Dave knew, and confirmed, that Sam was wearing his _well-you-know-how-my-friends-are-kind've-crazy?_ look he usually got when they talked about Mike. "Well…" Sam began, scratching the back of his head. "I don't really know how she does it but like, Brittany can just manage some things the rest of us can't. Like in this instance," Sam babbled, trying to keep Dave's interest (even though he already had it, no question). "Going into the male locker room and getting into a secured locker? Yeah, that's easy cake for Brittany." He shrugged again, leaning back against Dave's headboard. "Do not ask me how, but she could definitely manage it."

"So, the means would be…magic?" Dave asked, trying to figure out how this made sense. Hell, if a guy like Mike could exist, obviously instigating the most unlikely of circumstances, then Brittany achieving her goals despite total lack of skill, means, and opportunity _sort've_ made sense.

Sam confirmed this later, happily chirping, "Brittany magic."

Because that was the important part that needed to be clarified.

"Sorry," Dave said. "_Brittany_ magic. So does she go under _'Immediate investigation'_…?"

"Yes," Sam interrupted, adding her to the appropriate column. "It wouldn't be an intentional theft, but it's still worth looking into."

Dave added the words _"unintentional theft"_ next to Brittany and continued to the next name on the list.

"Sugar?" he asked, trying to drag up what little information he had about her.

He came up with nothing. Which went to show that either Sam didn't talk about her because he didn't _like_ her, or that Sam didn't talk about her because he actually _forgot_ she existed. Which happened, sometimes. He wasn't going to waste time remembering someone was there if they didn't actually warrant it.

So that…that didn't say good things.

"She's a wildcard," Sam eventually admitted, chewing on the end of his already abused pencil. "She's not that smart, but she's definitely crazy. I don't know _why_ she would want to steal a notebook but honestly, most of the things she does don't make any sense. If she wanted it, it would definitely happen." Sam frowned and tapped his finger against a name on his notepad. "On second thought, let's put Rory in the _'Possible Collusion'_ column. Sugar wouldn't want to get her hands dirty, so she would probably go to him."

"Moving," Dave muttered, erasing Rory's name from where he had scratched it out and adding him to the collusion column. "And Sugar's…?"

"'_Immediate investigation'_," Sam replied, eyes focused on his notes.

"Right."

That gave them four immediate suspects out of seventeen candidates, two secondary suspects, six people they still had to look into, and three people that were already disregarded altogether.

Though that left the question…

"Can't we scratch Puck and Tina off the list?" Dave asked. He was a little confused as to why they were on it in the first place. "They wouldn't have taken it, right?"

"Dude, I am not going to pretend I know how those guys work. You remember the-" at Dave's groan Sam stopped himself, nodding in agreement at the utter _stupidity_ that was Puck/Mike/Tina relations. "Yeah, so maybe Mike hadn't been paying Puck enough attention lately, or Tina, and one of them took it."

Dave furrowed his eyebrows, puzzling that over. "That doesn't sound like something Tina would do."

No, Tina would go for the more direct approach because she understood that subtlety was not her boys' strongest suit. Picking up hints; they could not do.

"Nah, you're right, but it _definitely_ sounds like something Puck would do," Sam replied. "Should have thought of that sooner. Don't they always check the romantic interests first in real investigations?" The blond sighed, shaking his head sadly. "Rookie mistake."

"Live and learn," Dave offered. "So Tina's…"

"Off the list," Sam confirmed. "She would not put up with that nonsense. But Puck's a serious candidate, I think."

"Perpetrator number 1," Dave muttered, bumping Quinn's name down the list.

Okay, now they only had four people left for consideration.

Dave pushed a cookie closer to Sam's wandering hand, the blond too busy making notes to bother looking at the plate. "Blaine is…?"

"Possible collusion," Sam replied, cramming the cookie successfully into his mouth, triumphant grin following this victory. It was only enhanced by his bulging cheeks, kind've like a hamster's, and Dave wondered if he should just start investing in hidden cameras or something, or if that crossed some kind of creeper/stalker line.

Probably _(definitely)_, but it was always nice to dream.

Outside the mess in Dave's head, Sam continued talking. "Alone Blaine really has no motive, he doesn't need to steal choreography and he doesn't need to mess with the Hebr-Asian Fusion. He would only be involved for Kurt."

"Who is primary suspect number two."

Sam pointed a finger gun at Dave, clicking his thumb down with a careless wink. "Bingo."

And Dave wasn't, wasn't, _wasn't_ flushing, because that would be stupid. He'd already seen Sam wink. At him. _Today_ even. This couldn't keep happening every time Sam threw some thoughtless gesture his way, he wouldn't get anything _done_.

His notepad came to face level once more to cover Dave's not-flush, and Quinn was bumped down again.

Dave cleared his throat, looking at the remaining names. "And Santana?"

"Is scary, but I don't think she would have any sort of interest in this. Unless she just felt like screwing with Puck, but this seems like a lot more effort for her with not a lot of payoff. It's far more satisfying just to lay out the insults to his face right?"

Dave shrugged. "I'll take your word for it."

"As well you should," Sam replied, more than pleased to share his knowledge. "We'll make her secondary, just in case."

"Sounds good," Dave murmured. "That leaves us with just Lauren and Artie."

"Both of which _could_ try to get at Puck."

Dave frowned at his list. "What about Tina? Doesn't anyone have a grudge against her?"

When he looked up Sam had both eyebrows raised at him, knowing grin on his face. "Would _you_ want to mess with her?"

"No."

Sam shrugged. "Well, everyone else feel the same way."

Though that didn't make entirely too much sense because Dave didn't _talk_ to Tina that much, and he wondered how much of that behavior the other glee-clubbers also participated in, Puck and Mike excluded.

And that was…a depressing train of thought.

Dave shook his head, trying to get back to business. _Focus_. "So where should we put them?"

The headboard creaked a little as Sam leaned against it, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I would say Artie is primary, though he would need help, and Zizes is secondary because again, a lot of effort for minimum payoff."

Dave thumped his pencil against his notepad as he finished off the list, all of the glee club successfully put into four neat columns. "Alright; we have you, Mike, Joe, and Tina as completely innocent, Finn, Rory, and Blaine as possible colluders, Santana, Rachel, Mercedes, and Zizes as secondary suspects, and Puck, Kurt, Quinn, Brittany, Sugar, and Artie as the primary suspects."

Though two of those were on the list for the sole purpose of being unpredictable crazy-people, and once again Dave had to wonder exactly _how_ he wound up hanging out with these people. If he wasn't careful, they would slowly pull him down into their madness.

…yeah, that had sounded hysterical to him too.

He _was_ _already_ crazy; might as well enjoy it. Preferably with a guy like Sam Evans.

"That sounds about right," Sam agreed, nodding as he followed along with his own notes.

"Who should we start with first?" Dave asked, carefully considering each of their primary suspects. Should he give these people a heads up? Or should he just…let things run there course, so the reactions would be sincere, legitimate. Dave would have to ask Kurt later for his opinion.

Before Sam could reply, Dave's phone went off on his nightstand, buzzing and rattling against the old wood. He rushed over to pick it up; checking the ID to see it was Azimio, probably looking for an excuse not to do homework. The people Dave hung out with, honestly. It was like Kurt and Mike were the only ones who understood the importance of good grades. Or academic eligibility. Dave was _still_ trying to figure out how Brittany got to compete in so many extracurricular activities when she had a grade point average of like, zero.

There was something wrong with the system there, he just knew it.

"I gotta take this real quick," he said, giving Sam a quick nod before walking out of the room. He walked through the hallway and started to make his way down the stairs for privacy. Whatever they were going to talk about, he just-

The guy he had to be with Azimio was not the guy Dave wanted hanging around Sam. That was just it, plain and simple.

He used to think there was no difference, but now he had to argue there was.

"Sup?" he said, picking up the call. He never really needed to say much, Azimio only needed a little prompting to charge ahead.

"Hey, get on Xbox live, we need another guy to play capture the flag. We don't want to be looking shoddy when Halo 4 comes out."

Dave sighed, already seeing where this was going. "I can't dude, I'm busy."

"Too busy for Halo?" the other teen scoffed. "Dude, you've been busy like, everyday this week. What, are you doing some more charity work?"

And by that he meant hanging with Sam, and Dave's fingers tightened around the edge of his phone but he kept his breath steady, quickly thinking up a lie. "I'm babysitting."

It wasn't that he was ashamed of the time he spent with Sam; Dave just hated how Azimio ragged on him. He was afraid his friend would start taking out his frustrations on Sam one day, for not understanding why Dave was suddenly hanging out with him. Maybe Azimio felt slighted, or something. They had been best friends since fifth grade; they did just about everything together and…

Azimio…he could be a bit of control freak. He didn't like it when people messed with the status quo. There were rules, he said. Rules that had to be followed and if everyone just acted normal, if they didn't diverge from what was _normal_ then the world would be a much better place for all of them, now wouldn't it? They could all be happy. No one would have to get picked on.

Sometimes Dave wondered if his friendship with Azimio was anything more than an attempt to protect himself, nowadays. As long as he kept in Azimio's good graces he was safe from…well, Azimio.

Now wasn't that a heartwarming and perfectly selfish thought.

"Too bad man," Azimio sighed, instantly taking a one eighty from annoyed to understanding. Yeah there was…see, there was a human underneath that. He could be reasoned with. "We'll just have to get Clark to take your place. Even if he kind've sucks."

Dave shrugged. "You get better with practice right?"

On the other end of the line, Azimio scoffed. "Yeah, a _lot_ of practice, for that guy. Good luck with your rugrats Dave, see you tomorrow."

"Bye," Dave mumbled, but Azimio was already gone, off in search of his last player.

Would Clark replace him, if Azimio decided to stop being his friend?

_Psh_- whatever, that was a- that was a stupid thought. No point. Way to be excessively girly. Whatever though, now he could get back to-

"I think I'll figure it out on my own."

The voice came from the top of the stairs, and when Dave looked up Sam was clutching his well-used notepad against his chest, fingers tight against the edges. "I mean," Sam continued, looking at the pictures on the wall, avoiding Dave's eyes. "The order or, whatever, I'll figure it out at home, get back to you tomorrow."

He didn't wait for Dave's input on the idea, just quickly disappeared back into the hallway, still not looking at Dave.

It didn't take long for the jock to put two and two together to figure out exactly which unfortunate part of the conversation Sam had walked in on. Dave took the stairs two at a time, reentering his room just as Sam was shoving his notes into his backpack.

"I'll call Kurt to pick me up," Sam explained, appearing so entirely focused on zipping up his backpack but not, like it was conscious, because he wouldn't look at Dave. "Or maybe I'll walk, whatever. Don't want to waste anymore of your time-"

"Sam-"

"Why can't you just _tell_ him!" Sam burst, finally whipping his head around so he can glare at Dave. The change was sudden but somehow Dave was expecting it, because Sam was never really good at restraining himself over things like injustice. "Am I so _bad_ for your reputation you can't own up to hanging out with me? Are you afraid they'll slushy you too?"

"That's not-"

"Then _why_?" Sam asked, legitimately imploring, _wanting_ to understand. "Why can't you just talk to him, he's your _friend-_"

"Because he's-" Dave started but he had to take a breath, to think it out so that it there could be some form of comprehension. "He's not a good guy. I mean it's not-" Dave shook his head. "It's not like Glee club Sam. Outside, with the rest of school, this is what guys are like. They hold onto standards and what's always been because they don't _like_ change. It's like an affront to their existence."

Slowly, Dave made his way towards Sam, sitting down beside him on the bed. "He doesn't like change. So I can't-" he looked at Sam, but all he got was that terribly familiar look of disappointment, because Dave was failing him, and Dave struggled to find better words for this. "I don't want-" he said, reaching out for Sam's arm just as he was trying to rise from the bed. "I don't want him to start taking out his anger on you, because of that change." As Sam moved to sit back down, backpack cradled against his chest protectively, Dave added, "And I also don't want him taking it out on me. So I-" he shrugged, not how else to say it. "I guess I'm a coward."

He expected Sam to leave then. For that to be it until tomorrow, or until the next day or until however long it would take for them to come back and pretend like nothing had happened, like Dave hadn't made this crack that they weren't ever going to fix.

Instead there was a sharp pain in his arm about a second later, and when he reached down to rub the spot Sam was pulling his fist away, determination written on his face.

"Don't be stupid," Sam muttered, then, with his eyes still focused on the wall in front of them, he reached out a hand to rub against Dave's arm too. "I noticed I haven't been slushied lately."

There was a pause and Dave's heart might have beaten just a little bit faster. If his world was made of clichés.

"Actually," Sam continued, looking at Dave from the corner of his eye. "I noticed that most of New Directions has gone slushie-less for a couple weeks now."

"I uhh…" Dave dropped off, clenching his fingers to avoid rubbing the back of his head in that super sheepish gesture he always seemed to do around Sam. "I might have…You know, just steered Azimio towards the chess club. Or tried to find other ways to keep the guys occupied during school." He shrugged, trying to play it off, but there was no deterring Sam's giant grin. "Right now we're between making up new sports and a mild prank war. Person who can pull the most successful pranks in the next month wins."

Sam beamed at him, like he totally called it, and clasped Dave's shoulder. "Dude, you're like a man on the inside."

"Sorta, I guess…" Dave admitted, though he still felt like…crap, for lack of better word. He had happy-Sam, proud-of-_him_-Sam, right here and now but he didn't _honestly_ deserve it. "But I still-"

"No, no excuses," Sam declared, dumping his backpack onto the floor and hopping up so that he was standing in front of Dave, hands propped on his hips. "You're a badass super spy in enemy territory _and_ you still choose to hang out with guys like me, like Kurt and Mike, and humor conversations with small yet undeniably intimidating Jewish girls and _still_ stick your neck out for all of us?" He finished this speech by crossing his arms, knowing smirk adorning his lips. "Then yeah, you get to not feel bad about it, because at least you _know_ it's bad right? Does this make any sense?"

And it…it did but it didn't, which sort of felt like what the entirety of their relationship _was_ at the moment, so Dave just smiled back.

"Yeah," he said, firmly deciding morals or not, spy cameras were a purchase worth making. "I get it."

"Good," Sam said, beaming. "Now let's get back to business."

"Okay," Dave agreed. "Sure."

As they got back to work, Dave marveled that whether it was Sam or Azimio, it always felt like he was following someone. At least with Sam he could follow without selectively hiding parts of himself but…

This…submissive ideology was just another defense mechanism probably, a cop out even, just to get by. And that wasn't necessarily a good thing, but the way he figured it…

Dave _wanted_ to follow wherever Sam would take them.

So he would.

For as long as Sam would have him.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Endnotes:

Kurt has a strange sense of humor.

Now, moving on…

This chapter, I mean- _seriously,_ it refused to end. It. _Wouldn't_. End. There were several times where I _thought_ it was ending, but nope, psyche, still had to keep going. It decided.

But enough of my whining, I would like to dole out a very large amount of thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I'm sending pleasant thoughts of rainbows and puppies for your contributions :D. That is, Frosted Heaven, Abby, and dosqueen67. I'm thinking double rainbows guys. _Double_ rainbows.

And onward…

I rewatched the Sam/Karofsky fight of…whenever that happened, I already forgot, but _man_, that was more brutal than I remember it being. Had to reevaluate a few things after seeing it.

Also, I got to Azimio's part and realized, quite shockingly, I had no idea how to write him. So this was me trying to do Tim Gunn proud and making it work.

I'm about out segues now, so I guess I'm done. Next chapter we get…other people's reactions! All together now, "_Ooohhhh" _*finishes with super enthused jazz hands*

And that will be a good time for all : )

Until next time.


	4. I Don't Have a Future Figured Out

Chapter 4

I Don't Have a Future Figured Out

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Finn wasn't ashamed to admit he was not entirely comfortable with the subtle changes happening in the glee club. And by changes he meant Karofsky, and by subtle he meant…Karofksy.

Because while that was a small change it felt like the most bizarre thing in the world, for him and Sam to be all buddy-buddy all of the sudden.

Dave and Mike, Finn could understand that. Mike was a nice guy. He made a point to be welcoming and kind to others (even to others that had spent the majority of the past two years throwing slushies in their faces). Finn could understand why Karofsky would be okay with hanging out with Mike, because Mike was legitimately a good guy who knew the importance of keeping things quiet, who had mastered the art of blending in and avoiding trouble so easily it had become second nature. Low profile wasn't even an adjective anymore when it came to describing Mike, it simply _was_ him (except when it came to Puck but, let's face it, that described practically everyone's interaction with the mohawked teen).

So Mike and Dave, that made sense, kind've. Dave…_reforming_ (yeah, that was a good word for it) enough to actually reach out and help Mike with his relationship problems, that was…that showed some maturity. Some respect. A generosity the rest of the glee kids couldn't actually bring up without fear of getting thrown in the dumpsters, but still nice.

Karofsky and _Sam_ on the other hand…

Finn couldn't wrap his head around it. There was no logic to it. No reason.

Sam had _hated_ Karofsky. And not just, _"Man, that guy's such a jerk, I hate him,"_ but legitimate, I-throw-a-curse-upon-you-and-your-ancestors kind of hate that was beyond personal. Karofsky was a bully. And not only that, he was a bully that had gotten off scot-free. He had threatened Kurt so badly he had to _leave_ (Kurt, who Sam was fiercely protective of, because Kurt had always stood beside the blond, had never talked down to him or doubted him), so how was it that now, only like, seven odd weeks after he was trying to destroy Karofksy's umbrella through the sheer power of _glaring_, that Sam and Dave had become the bestest of friends?

It wasn't an act. Sam wasn't being forced into it. He honestly enjoyed hanging out with Karofsky. Saw no reason for it not to happen, did _so _many- and Dave was _humoring_ this.

Except he wasn't. Because that was the first thing Finn had looked for. That was the first thing Artie and Rachel and Rory had all looked for, when that twosome officially became a regular thing. To see if Dave was just playing Sam, if this was just some new kind of prank or joke or drawn-out form of hazing.

And Finn, just like Artie and Rory and Rachel (Rachel, who had gone so far as to actually _talk_ to Dave) had come to the undeniable conclusion that it was none of those things. Karofsky was hanging out with Sam because he wanted to hang out with Sam. He was tutoring him (correctly, Artie had made sure, the other teen had not been leading Sam astray) because Sam needed it and he came over to watch Avatar for the fifteenth-million time because he and Sam weren't _quite_ able to quote the entire movie verbatim (well, Sam could; but he would not be satisfied until Dave had a better handle on his Na'vi).

Dave was the one who called to remind Sam about that report that was due and Dave was the one that suggested songs for Sam to cover in glee club and Dave was the one who nodded to Kurt as though he both acknowledged and respected their suspicions of him, like he was glad that so many people had Sam's back.

And clearly, they all knew it, (even if they didn't say it, even the ones that only cared enough to pay like, the most microscopic amount of attention), knew that something had either happened or some kind of knowledge had been dropped that made it acceptable for Dave to be welcomed into their group so easily. Something that only Kurt and Dave and Mike and those guys knew.

Finn wasn't…he got it. There had to be boundaries right? He respected that. So it wasn't like he was going to barge in and demand to be let in on the secrets, because he didn't need to. He trusted Sam and he especially trusted Kurt and if they said Karofsky was okay then Finn wasn't going to question it.

But this _detective_ thing? Whatever it was? Yeah, Finn had a lot of questions about that. And all of them seemed pretty reasonable in the grand scheme of things. Especially considering how Sam kept on like, sizing everyone up during glee rehearsal when he thought they wouldn't notice. And then there were the hushed conversations with Mike and the way he kept jotting notes down on his tiny notepad that he refused to let Finn look through…

It could only mean one thing.

There was a mystery afoot.

Sam and Dave had _actually_ found a mystery. With Mike, probably. And the way Sam was eyeing all of _them_ suspiciously made Finn think that just maybe…okay, _definitely_, they were the suspects.

Which was bad. If someone in the glee club was a crime-committer that would make for more issues, and they did not _need_ more issues, not with Nationals coming just around the corner and finals and-

They were doing a good job, keeping it on the downlow. But for some odd reason this did _not_ bring any sense of comfort to Finn.

He thought about it.

And slept on it.

Then thought about it some more.

Eventually he came to the conclusion that he was just a more hands-on kind of guy. He was like, the leader of the Glee club right? If anyone should be concerned with their well-being it should be _him_, right?

So if anyone should be solving glee-related mysteries, it should be him. With a delicate hand.

Because they didn't want it to be obvious, right?

Finn decided he would investigate the investigation, keeping tabs on Sam and Dave and maybe, just _possibly_ solving the mystery (whatever it was) before they did and initiating damage control. Or like, getting Quinn and Rachel to initiate damage control, because girls were better at that kind of stuff anyway.

And there was the slightest chance that if Finn followed them around he would get to know that super-secret thing that made Karofksy acceptable, or maybe he would find out Karofksy really _was_ just messing with them all along, but either way, Finn figured he would win. They had more people working on the possible mystery, he could chaperone Sam and Dave from a distance, and he would finally be able to sleep at night without feeling lousy for not taking proper care of all the Glee club members.

Finn considered this responsible leadership. It would make up for all the times he had slacked off on the job.

Truly, this was a perfect plan.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"Hey."

The voice startled Finn from his position against the wall, posed so that he could peak around the corner to where Dave and Sam were huddled and talking quietly but still able to retreat quickly if they looked in his direction. When Finn managed to calm himself, he turned to see that his intruder was Brittany, hugging a unicorn notebook to her chest possessively as she stared at him with wide, curious eyes.

"Did you get stuck?" she asked, tilting her head to the side as she glanced down to his hands, pressed against the wall behind him. "Or lost?" She frowned, shifting her weight from side to side uneasily. "I really hate it when that happens. I can call Santana though, or Rachel, if you want. Though Santana will probably yell less."

Finn blinked for a moment, trying to follow along Brittany's train of thought and eventually giving up, shaking his head. "No and no, I'm good Britt," he explained, holding his hands up and moving away from the wall to demonstrate. "See? Thanks for the offer though."

Brittany's response was to tilt her head to the other side, eyebrows furrowing quizzically. "There are better places for standing Finn. I have a few favorites by the air conditioning vents," Brittany explained, then squinted her eyes, looking thoughtful. "Or maybe you would like the vending machines better. Anyway, I can show you."

"No-" Finn began to protest, pulling his arm back gently as the cheerleader attempted to lead him off. "I'm not just-" he looked both ways quickly, checking to see if the coast was clear, then leaned forward. "I'm spying," he whispered, giving her a conspiratorial wink.

She stared at him blankly for a few seconds, vague but so…eerily still Finn wanted to wave a hand in front of her face, almost did, until she broke out of her trance, replying, "Like that James Bond movie me and Santana snuck into?"

Finn smiled at her brightly, glad they were getting somewhere. "Right."

The thoughtful look was back, this time accompanied by some chewing on her bottom lip. She looked at him, looked down the hallway, then back to him, confused. "Then shouldn't there be running?"

Finn blinked and tilted his head to the side. "What?"

"And car chases," Brittany continued, not hearing him. "They should be running and then you chase and then something explodes and then I get bored and start trying to pick out all the yellow Skittles." Finn furrowed his eyebrows, trying to keep up with her, and Brittany shrugged. "You are not very good at spying."

"I am-" Finn began to protest on reflex, then shook his head, trying to focus on the more important things. "No Britt, like, what detectives do. You know, _that_ kind of spying."

"Like Sherlock Holmes?" Brittany asked, brightening up. "Lord Tubbington loves watching those movies, even though I never know what's going on, I like his hat though-"

"Yes," Finn exclaimed, cutting her off. "Yeah, that's exactly what it's like."

"You mean…" Brittany leaned so that she could peak around the corner, pulling back quickly with a nod. "Like Sam and Dave." She frowned, then clutched her notebook closer to her chest, rocking back and forth in some odd attempt to comfort herself. "I wanted to play with them but Santana said I couldn't. It makes me sad Finn," she said, looking at him imploringly. "I got the hat and everything."

She paused, looking off to the side, sad expression on her face until a thought dawned on her. She looked up at him carefully, eagerness in her eyes. "If _you're_ detectiving, can I play with you?" Before Finn could say anything Brittany kept going, all excitement and energy, bouncing up and down in place with barely contained enthusiasm. "I promise I'll do whatever you say Finn, and I'll take good notes and say _'Elementary'_ a lot and I even have my own telescope Finn-"

"Okay, okay," Finn surrendered, before he could ask exactly _what_ they would need a telescope for. "You can be my partner Britt."

Two heads were better than one right? Even if one of them was Brittany, she still had connections and access to things Finn didn't, and extra power as the President of the student council…

Besides, it was hard to pass up on enthusiasm like that.

"Thank you, _thank you_!" Brittany cheered, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a brief hug, pulling away in time to do a quick happy dance. "We are going to be the best detectives ever Finn, I can _feel_ it."

"Awesome," Finn said, smile widening on his face. "Now we're looking into-"

"Brittany?"

Finn didn't jump, which was awesome because normally he would have (check out his mad sleuthing skills), at the sound of Sam's voice. The other blond had just come around the corner, his own notepad clutched in his hand. He looked between Finn and Brittany, a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

"Can we talk to you?" he finished, nodding over to where Dave was standing by the empty choir room. Brittany nodded in return, smile still plastered on her face, but Finn reached and snagged her shoulder just as she was about to pass by.

"Just uh…" he began, trying to think of an excuse. "Homework stuff," he explained to Sam. Before the blond could question that Finn leaned forward, whispering quietly into Brittany's ear. "_It's a secret okay? Tell them nothing_."

When he pulled back Brittany just beamed at him, nodding excitedly. "You got it," she chirped, and without further ado made her way towards Dave, not even bothering with Sam anymore. The other blond gave an annoyed huff but didn't question their whispered conversation, instead choosing to follow after Brittany with an irritated look, leaving Finn to his own devices.

Well, that was fine. It wasn't like Finn didn't have a man on the inside anyway.

Even if that "man" was Brittany.

And…

Yeah, on second thought, maybe he should brush off his eavesdropping-through-doors ability. Or better yet, he was willing to bet anything the windows behind the risers were still cracked open. If he ran fast enough he could get outside those windows by the time they finished introductions.

He would even take his _own_ notes.

_Take that Evans._

Finn was on his way up in the world. Doing a proper job of leader-ing.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

Dave didn't think it was all that unfair to assume that nothing would come from their "interrogation" with Brittany. And that was just what it was going to be, an "interrogation", quotes and horrible sarcasm intended. Dave had tried to figure out what kind of questions Sam wanted to ask Brittany but the blond had assured him he had it covered. All Dave needed to do was, to quote Sam verbatim, _"Stand there and look pretty."_

To which Dave had been unable to respond because his head was a panicked, over-enthused prick like that and far too please and simultaneously conflicted that Sam had used the word "pretty" (even though of the two of them Sam would obviously be considered the pretty one) so unfortunately Dave had been unable to address any of his concerns and had resigned himself on nodding dumbly because he was particularly stupid like that.

So for the moment Dave was tasked with sitting on the sidelines, observing and making his own notes to catch the things Sam had missed, and watching the door in case any of the other glee kids looked like they were going to show up. When Dave had asked why they didn't seek out a more secluded interrogation space, somewhere all their prime suspects _didn't_ visit on a daily basis, Sam had simply replied that he didn't want to look too suspicious. He wanted his friends to feel safe and comfortable, be somewhere familiar so they would give the most honest answers.

So yeah, choir room, that was where they were doing this. Which made sense, and also no sense, but Sam had been so insistent and determined that Dave couldn't find the voice to fight him. There was logic to it. Besides, Sam knew these people better than he did.

And Dave trusted Sam.

So here they were.

Brittany all but pranced into the room, shashaying over to where they had set up two chairs facing each other. She plopped into one without being told, giving them both with a cheerful grin before turning her attention to the sparkling unicorn notebook in her hand. She settled into the chair, pulling her legs up in the ever-familiar criss-cross-applesauce and set the notebook on her lap, pulling a glittery pink gel pen out from where it was tucked behind her ear and flipping the spiral notebook open. Once she had settled on the page she looked back up at them, eyes wide as though _they_ were the ones holding up this affair (and they were, but still, it was an odd look for her).

Sam blinked quizzically, then shook his head, sharing a quick look with Dave before he strode forward, all charisma and ease like he was still totally in charge of the situation. He pulled out his own smaller notepad; hand sized, and flipped open to a clean page, settling into his chair gradually while staring her down. Or, attempting to stare her down. Whatever his intentions, Brittany was completely oblivious. If anything she looked excited.

Yeah…this was probably going to be bad. Dave almost wanted to stop and call it a day now. They could go to Santana maybe, get _her_ to ask Brittany. That would probably work better. Of course, then Dave had to remember that they would be asking about a fictional notebook, and that would probably lead to the kinds of questions he didn't necessarily feel like answering.

"Hi Sam," Brittany said in that cheerful, almost-monotone voice she always used. "Hi Dave."

She wiggled the fingers of her pen-free hand at Dave as a form of greeting, earning a small _humph_ from Sam. Whether it was because of her lack of focus or her attention to Dave, the jock would never know.

Or hey- how about the crazy idea that Sam might have just been _sighing_. Wouldn't that be a strange turn of events?

Sam cleared his throat and looked down at his notepad, reviewing his interview outline. "So Brittany-"

"We should have nicknames," Brittany decided, clapping her hands together in excitement as though she had every idea of whatever Sam was going to ask her, and that was definitely it. "You can be…Sam the Man," Brittany continued, pointing her pink gel pen at Sam's look of growing confusion. "Because that rhymes and rhymes are cool. And I'll be Rainbow Sparkledust, because all unicorns are required to have first and last names." She looked at Dave in confirmation, as though these were facts he actually knew. "And Dave…Dave can be Big Bear. Because everyone knows bears are mean and snappy until you hug them, and then they'll love you forever and keep you warm in bed at night with their big, snuggly goodness."

She rocked back in her chair, infinitely pleased with herself, and nodded. "And that's how hibernation works."

Dave was…ever so glad he hadn't been able to follow that. Because he would, eventually, be able to process that and then turn the appropriate shade of red, but that wouldn't be until later and Sam was looking at him _now_ and all he had was a blatant look of confusion with an added dash of disbelief and wonder to bring it on home.

Sam looked at him for a few seconds as though considering this (of course _he_ would be able to follow Brittany's spiel) and looked like he was about to say something before Brittany interrupted, tapping her pen against the palm of her hand.

"Can I hug him later?" Brittany asked, eyes sincere. "I like loveable teddybears and it isn't fair that you get to hog-"

"Okay Brittany!" Sam interrupted, perhaps more loudly than he needed to. "I have questions for you, which is why _you're_ here and _I'm_ here, so let's do that..." Sam dropped off, staring intently at the notepad in his hand. "Let's do that question-asking thing."

"Okay," Brittany replied brightly, not at all bothered by Sam's interruption and subsequent avoidance of her question. "How may I please the people of my fine nation?"

Sam, being the wise person that he was, didn't waste any time with fine details like _what-the-hell-that-meant_ that would lead them on any other irrelevant sidetracks. He cleared his throat again and started up at his normal talking volume, sounding a bit more composed. "Have you and Mike been working on any choreography lately?"

Brittany thought about this and shrugged. "Sometimes. Sometimes he tries to convince me not to do all my homework in crayon." She leaned forward, glancing side-to-side quickly and whispered, "He's the one who switched me to gel pens. He got me an entire pack!" She sat back with a smile, flipping her pen in one hand triumphantly. "It's like a rainbow."

Sam stared at her, at a loss for words, and tilted his head to the side. "…What?"

"Like rainbows," Brittany repeated, thinking he had misheard her. After a few seconds her eyes lit up, like she discovered something, and she tilted her notebook up towards her chest, pen posed on it to begin to write something. "Have _you_ been working on any choreography with Mike?"

"What?" Sam asked, then shook his head, trying to clear it. "No."

Brittany shrugged and began to scribble across her paper, eyebrows lifted in what was perhaps exasperation. "Well you should consider it. You're not very good."

"_What?"_ Sam echoed, this time incredulous. "I am _not-_"

"No, you're not," Brittany repeated, nodding sagely, and Dave had to stifle a laugh at Sam's indignant sputter. The blond turned and threw a small glare at him, only mildly sincere, before returning his attention to Brittany. His cheeks were flushed, Dave noticed, because that was the kind of thing that he was prone to noticing.

He liked that look. Sort of.

He could do without the ill-will that instigated it though.

"So you _have_ been dancing with Mike lately?"

"Yes." Brittany nodded but didn't take her eyes off her notebook. By the looks of it she had begun doodling a picture.

"Great," Sam replied, somewhat thrown by the fact she actually gave a straight answer. He blinked, then shook his head, checking his notes to see what his next question was. "So when you were-?"

"What's your favorite color Sam?" Brittany asked, eyes still glued on her notebook.

Sam paused, obviously thrown by the question, then furrowed his eyebrows.

Before he could go back to his standby question of "_what?"_ Brittany continued, "It's my turn to ask a question, so what's your favorite color?"

"It is not-" Sam cut himself off as he tried to contain himself, thumping his notepad against his thigh. "That isn't how this works. _I_ ask questions-"

"And then _I_ ask questions and we all get to know things," Brittany finished, swirling her pen around the outside edges of her paper.

Sam blinked, flabbergasted, then set his jaw in determination. "No. It's just one-way."

"Well that's rude," Brittany replied, unimpressed with him. "And also illegal and I won't have any of it. I have freedom to preach-"

"Speech," Dave corrected automatically, earning one frustrated look of _you-are-the-epitome-of-unhelpfulness_ from Sam and a thankful one from Brittany.

"Right," Brittany said with a nod. "You can make speeches and _I_ can make speeches and if you're going to be bad at dancing it's only fair you tell me what your favorite color is."

Sam's fingers clutched his notepad tighter, physically twitching at the accusation. "I'm _not-_"

"Perhaps," Dave interrupted calmly, because if he didn't step in and play mediator soon he had a feeling there was going to be a catfight that would be _very_ unpleasant to watch, involving way more bruises and less sexiness than desired.

Granted, the idea of fixing up Sam's wounds had a bizarre kind of appeal, but Santana would probably be displeased if so much as one scratch befell upon Brittany. So Dave would take it upon himself, from one overprotective-guy yearning for a same-sex relationship to another overprotective-girl legitimately _in_ a same-sex relationship to put an end to this before things got ugly.

"We should just…take a few deep breaths and take turns, like Brittany proposed." Dave sent his partner-in-crime a meaningful look. "And that way everything is fair and _efficient_," he explained, emphasizing this last word so Sam could get a feel on how much time they had wasted.

Sam glared at him firmly for a few seconds, protesting on principal, but eventually sat back in his seat with a petulant slump. "_Fine_."

"Awesome," Brittany chirped, unphased by any negative energy in the room. "So Sam, what's your favorite-"

"_Blue_," Sam replied, his face resting in his hands, and Brittany made an _um-hum_ noise.

"Great, what kind of blue?"

Instead of answering Sam just gave her an incredulous look, but Brittany would have none of it. "There are lots of types of blue Sam."

Sam sighed and rolled his head back, staring at the ceiling while his fingers played with the side of his chair. "I don't know. Royal, I guess."

"Okay," Brittany said, jotting this down (or, Dave supposed that was what she wrote. It could be something else entirely, for all he knew). "Hey Dave!" Brittany called, cupping one hand around her mouth. "Sam's favorite color is royal blue!"

She finished this with a bright smile and a thumbs up before turning back to her notes, which was amazing because Dave was slightly-confused/growing-very-concerned for how much Santana had told Brittany about…Dave's situation, and what of that Brittany actually _perceived_ and applied to the magical place that was her outlook of the world.

For lack of anything better to say, Dave chose to mutter, "Thank you."

He ignored the confused look Sam gave the entire exchange and the notes that might have followed.

This was going to be a long talk.

"So," Sam started again, sounding only mildly agitated now that they were back on track. "When you and Mike were working on choreography, did he mention anything about a notebook?"

"Yes," Brittany immediately answered (and the suddenness of this answer worried Dave, along with how sure of herself she sounded). "He said it fit my personality." She tapped her pen against her bottom lip, looking down at her notebook. "What's your stance on football?"

"Good, I guess," Sam replied, looking mildly perplexed. "You know I'm on the team right?"

"Irrelevant," Brittany muttered writing his answer down. She sat back with a satisfied look and waved over to the standing jock. "So far it's looking really good for you Dave."

Happy place, happy place, Dave was in his happy place where he was unaffected by less-intellectually-gifted females trying to play wingman.

He needed to have a conversation with Santana when this was all over. A very _thorough_ one.

"Thank you," Dave replied politely. "You said it fit your personality?"

Sam could get mad at him later for _"prompting the suspect" _but he really needed them to move onto the next subject, post-haste, and it looked like Sam was going to be too busy giving him and Brittany puzzled looks to remember where the interrogation had left off.

"Yes!" Brittany said cheerfully.

"And what exactly does that mean?" Sam asked, snapping out of his bewilderment.

Brittany gave him an exasperated look. "That it's _me_."

Dave and Sam shared a look that was less of a look and more of a silent quandary, trying to translate what Brittany was trying to communicate.

Sam looked back to the other blond first, eyebrows furrowed and expression properly puzzled. "So it's _you_ because it's full of dance-stuff and you _like_ dancing?"

"Of course I like dancing," Brittany replied.

When she refused to give any further answers Sam went in for the clarification. "So you liked the notebook?"

Brittany looked torn between annoyance and confusion. "Yeah, but I don't see what one has to do with the other."

There may have been some balking on Sam's part at that comment, but the blond quickly shook his head and kept focused, explaining in a calm voice, "The notebook was full of dance notes, you like dancing, so you like the notebook."

For the most part Brittany just looked surprised as Sam broke it down, reaching up to tug on the bottom end of her pony tail in an almost worried fashion. "The notebook has _notes_ in it?"

"Yes," Sam replied tersely through clenched teeth, making an effort to take deep breaths to keep himself from being frustrated. "And you wanted to read them because you like dancing."

Brittany shook her head stubbornly; both hands now tangled in her pony, and furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah, I like dancing but I wouldn't want to _read_ about it. Reading's hard and dancing's easy. Why would I combine the two? It would just make dancing worse."

Sam held a hand up as though he was trying to reach out and shake her, fingers visibly shaking with restraint, but he eventually pulled it back down, shoving it into his lap. He repositioned the notepad in his hand and sighed, trying to keep collected.

It took great effort on Dave's part not to go over and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, or show some kind of support.

But he didn't want to undermine Sam. This was his show.

His highly convoluted, ridiculously nonsensical, completely devoid of logic and reason, show, but his show none the less.

And Dave did not envy him for that.

"So you _don't_ like the notebook?" Sam asked after a few seconds, pen pressed against his notepad as he waited for the answer, already having a feeling for what it was.

Of course, Brittany was never one to do the expected. Which, in all fairness, was something _they_ should have come to expect by now.

"Of course I like the notebook," Brittany chirped in response, going from anxious to the epitome of joy in about half a second, looking absolutely pleased that they had asked. "It fits my personality."

Dave knew that in the next second Sam's only question would be, _"What the hell does that even _**_mean_**_?!"_ which would lead them on yet another preposterous goose-chase and scrambled to think of something new to ask, something to say that would keep that would-be cat fight from coming into existence.

Thankfully, _ever-so _thankfully, Brittany chose to blithely carry on, holding up her own unicorn notebook by the front end and flipping through all the pages, thoughtful expression on her face. "Though I don't see any of these dance notes you keep talking about. Makes sense though," she continued, plopping the notebook down as she got back to the page she originally started writing on. "Why would Mike give me a notebook if it was already full? That's just rude."

In the few seconds Sam took to gawk at Brittany, mouth hanging slightly open, Dave made his way across the room, grabbing onto the blond's shoulder before he could erupt in a fiery burst of frustration.

"Mike gave you your unicorn notebook?" he asked, calm and reasonable, trying to move past the general ridiculousness that was Brittany. The cheerleader nodded at him, so he continued, "Okay, did you know that Mike had _another_ notebook, a notebook that was _his_ that he had written choreography in?"

"Mike started writing down his choreography?" Brittany asked in response, legitimately surprised by this turn of events, and Dave shared a quick look with Sam. That answered any of the questions they might have had.

Sam shrugged, letting out a quiet sigh as he began to calm down. "Yeah, but it's nothing you need to worry about."

"So he _didn't_ start writing down his choreography?" Brittany pressed, leaning forward on the seat of her chair, urgent look on her face.

Of course, _of course_ she would care. Mike was her buddy. Brittany took care of her buddies. So if one of them happened to be stolen from…

Dave looked back down at Sam, sharing a quick, silent communication, and made the call. It wasn't a call he particularly _liked_, but it was necessary none the less.

"Right," Dave said casually, nodding to Sam. He could tell the blond didn't like it either, but wasn't going to object. His nerves had already been frazzled enough for one day; he could not continue trying to handle Brittany.

"Okay," Brittany replied, brightening up instantly. If there had been any sign of worry anxiousness it was a distant memory as Brittany flipped her own notebook closed and popped up from her chair, hugging the spiral notebook close to her chest and shifting her weight from side to side, content expression on her face. "Are we done questioning?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, shaking his head slowly as he finished up his notes on Brittany. It most likely said something of _"OMG _**_no_**_"_ and ended with a couple of stick figures fighting each other.

There was the _slightest_ chance Dave had a small stack of similar stick-figure doodles in the same desk drawer he had kept the Beauty and the Beast tickets, scavenged from the many times Sam had simply discarded them, or balled them up and deemed them unworthy to grace anyone's eyes, but that was a secret Dave didn't intend on sharing with anyone.

"Then I'm off!" Brittany declared with a nod and a fist pump. With a casual spin (which Dave didn't think was possible, but hey- Brittany _was_ magical), the blond began her exit of the room, cheerful hop in her step as she made her way towards the door. Halfway there she stopped, paused for a moment, then turned back around suddenly. A second later Dave had his arms full of Brittany, the cheerleader having thrown her arms around his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug. She only held on for a brief moment, then stepped back, triumphant grin on her face.

"And now you love me forever too," she decided, bopping him on the nose lightly with her index finger as she said it. With that she finally left the room, breezing into the hallway with an air of joy that was probably unattainable by normal human beings.

Dave sort've…envied her for that. Like a lot.

It was like she was emotionally bulletproof.

"Well, _that_ was a waste of time," Sam groused quietly, flopping his head back until it whacked against the top of his chair.

Unconsciously, Dave reached out and ran a hand through his hair, like he had done for his smaller cousins whenever they were feeling frustrated, eyes still locked on the door. He didn't realize what he was doing until he earned an appreciative hum from Sam, and when he looked down the blond had gone from aggravated to pleased, eyes closed and hands no longer threatening his notepad with a death hold.

Boundaries- there had to be _boundaries_, right? And Dave didn't _want_ to treat Sam like a cousin he wanted-

He wanted a Brittany to his Santana.

Immediately Dave stilled his hand and withdrew it, making himself busy with putting Brittany's chair back on the riser. Behind him Sam made no comment, he simply followed in suit, putting away his own chair, and the two of them were re-backpacked up and heading for Dave's car in no time, walking in companionable silence.

"It wasn't a waste," Dave said, startling Sam as they got into the car. He ignored the confusion and moved on, adjusting his already perfectly-positioned mirrors. "We have to cover all our bases, so…"

"It wasn't a waste," Sam agreed, nodding. He studied Dave for a few more seconds, for what, Dave couldn't figure, but eventually shifted his focus to fiddling with the radio. He settled on one of his usual country, honky-tonk stations he seemed to love so much and settled back in his seat with a happy sigh, fingers drumming against the armrest on the passenger door.

And, because Dave had already surrendered to the sappy _stupidity_ that was the state of his emotional well-being, he went ahead and thought that any time with Sam wasn't ever really a waste.

But he was allowed that thought, because he was sappy. And it wasn't like he was going to be spouting off any love songs anytime soon anyway so…

Yeah, he figured he was good. The world was good.

For now.

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With Kurt off with Rachel on the prowl for new sheet music and Brittany off doing…whatever Brittany did when he wasn't tutoring her (painstakingly, ever so painstakingly tutoring her), Blaine hadn't expected anything too lively to come from his afternoon alone. He had thought that maybe he would go rehearse a few songs in the auditorium before heading home, or maybe hit the locker room to do some weight lifting (it never hurt to do a little bit extra, anything to get him in the best shape for Nationals) but other than that, there wasn't much that called for his attention.

There were no warring factions in the Glee club that needed to be appeased, no last-minute cram sessions for tests, no mid-teen crisis, senior-itus; everything had been, surprisingly enough, pretty calm for the last few weeks. After the Mike/Puck/Tina ordeal that had lasted for what was at the very least six months, everyone had just fallen into line. There was no more in-fighting or permeating sexual frustration, only…harmony.

And that was nice.

…Yeah, that was what Blaine had come to. Perceiving these quiet moments of peace as _"nice"_ and _"pleasant"_ and _"atypical"._

Sometimes Blaine missed being in a private school composed entirely of guys. It made for less drama. Not the complete abolition of the concept, of course, just…less.

Blaine made it a point though to keep his eyes open for the inevitable behavior that would shatter this small reprieve, so when he spotted Finn leaning against the wall outside of the choir room, furiously scrawling across a spiral notebook with no one around him, Blaine had the uncanny feeling that something was up.

And he had just been trying to take a shortcut to the auditorium, cut in between buildings to save himself some time. He didn't necessarily _have_ to stop…

But Blaine couldn't, in good conscious, _not_ stop and see what Finn was doing. He just…just a quick check-in. That was all. He'd just see what Finn was up to and then it'd turn out to be nothing and he would be on his way, boring solo-afternoon appropriately nondescript and boring as they are always were.

"So Finn," Blaine began casually, nothing nosy here, just some honest-to-goodness interest in his friend's well-being. "What are you-?"

"Text Brittany," Finn said quickly, steamrolling over any of Blaine's attempted inquisition in his hurry. "Tell her we're outside the choir room. Like, outside-outside," he clarified, waving vaguely to their surroundings for a brief moment before turning his attention back to his note-making.

"Now hold on a second," Blaine replied, hands going to his hips on reflex before he realized what he was doing and folding them across his chest instead. "I'm not doing anything-"

"Time is really of the essence here Blaine," the other teen interrupted, not even bothering to take his eyes off of his notebook as he continued his scribbling. "Gotta do a debrief while everything is still fresh in her head." Finn paused and looked thoughtful, head tilting to the side as he stewed something over, then shrugged. "Even if I was here for most of it, I need to get the beginning. You know," he shared a quick look with Blaine, the first since their conversation had begun. "Be thorough and stuff."

"What are we being thorough _for_?" Blaine asked, even though he shouldn't have because he just- he really wanted to _know_. There was no harm in knowing right? To have someone with…reasonable sanity keeping an eye on whatever this was.

Despite Finn's gruffness, Blaine whipped out his phone obediently and sent off a text to Brittany, telling her, _in explicit detail_, where her presence was desired.

Finn paused for another second, actually standing up fully to look Blaine in the eye. "I'm gonna level with you Blaine," he began; rolling his shoulders to work out some kinks he had gotten from his position hunched over his notebook. "Because we bonded right, during Sectionals? We both want the same thing."

"And that's…" Blaine prompted, waving his hand for Finn to fill in the blank, and the other teen happily obliged him.

"No more fighting," Finn replied. "No more problems, no more issues, just-"

"Harmony," Blaine finished, feeling a flood of relief wash over him as Finn nodded. Good, Finn was just…trying to be cautious, like Blaine was.

"Exactly," Finn chirped, then motioned down to his notes. "I'm thinking Sam and Dave actually have a case for their detective business thing, but they're investigating _us_ so-"

"Do you think there's a problem in the Glee club?" Blaine asked, legitimately worried. He knew Kurt and Mike had been scheming over some plans or something to help Dave out the past couple of weeks, but Kurt had refused to let him in on anything. If things were going well for Dave, that was great but…

Blaine didn't like this investigating-the-glee-club business. These were pretty touchy people, excessively prone to overreactions. And then overreactions to _those_ overreactions.

Blaine was just concerned, was all. It was a perfectly valid feeling to have.

"Maybe," Finn replied, shrugging. Any further conversation was literally cut off when Brittany skipped between them, gracing Finn with a quick solute and Blaine with a smile, turning her torso to look back and forth between the two of them as she clutched a sparkling notebook to her chest.

"I did good," she declared, and Blaine had to restrain himself from correcting her grammar, it would only devolve the conversation and it certainly wouldn't take.

He turned his attention to Finn instead, intent to see what he had to say and perhaps become further enlightened.

"Yeah, you did." Finn agreed, smiling at her. "Now, if you could just cover everything that happened before they asked you-?"

"Is Blaine playing with us too?" Brittany asked, studying the shorter male intently, hand rubbing against her chin in a portrait of thoughtfulness. "Because if he isn't he should probably go. This is highly classified information Harry Potter."

"Brittany, I told you to stop calling me that," Blaine replied, trying not to sound long suffered, and made a quick decision. If he was in, he was in for the long haul, for _all_ of the insanity.

But if he was out…

It wasn't that he didn't trust Finn, because he did. He just thought that…well, _maybe_ there should be a guiding force or something. A voice of reason.

_A chaperone_, his mind supplied for him, but Blaine shook the thought off.

He was simply doing what was civically responsible. Being a good friend. Making sure Finn and Brittany didn't cause more damage than Sam and Dave did.

You know, the small things.

"And yes," Blaine continued. "I _am_ playing with you."

"Awesome," Brittany chirped, giving him a bright smile before turning it to Finn.

The taller teen, for the most part, looked pleased by the newest addition and smiled back, satisfied. "Great, but remember, outside the three of us…"

"No one must know," Brittany finished, ending this declaration with a swivel of her index finger.

They both turned to look at Blaine expectantly and the other teen yielded, deciding to go along with those rules, for now. "No one must know," he echoed.

This would probably come back to haunt him later, but if he was lucky, it would only come back to bite him a little bit. Which was, at this point, really all he could ask for.

"Okay then," Finn replied, clapping a hand against his thigh. "Let's get debriefing."

"Santana says we can only do that in private," Brittany said informatively, eyes wide and Finn, to his credit, simply went with the flow.

"Different kind of debriefing," Finn explained.

As they made their way towards the parking lot they decided they would meet up at the Lima Bean to finish their "debriefing" and start making plans. If all went well, this entire ordeal would turn out to be incredibly harmless. In the best circumstances they would simply have an entertaining story to tell at the end of the day.

And if not…

Well, that wasn't something Blaine was going to think about.

* * *

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Endnotes:

Yes, I know it was a cheap joke. I did it anyway. It pleases me : )

So just a heads up, things are going to get ridiculous. That's kind've the drill here, but I thought I'd give you fair warning now. Inspiration for the Finn/Brittany/Blaine detective trio is credited to Frosted Heaven, as is the Brittany interrogation scene. You're a peach Heavs, a very manly peachedy-peach.

Jazz hands and sparkledust to everyone who reviewed last chapter! And by that I mean thank you, and also, here is some sparkling lurve and gratitude your way. Specifically to Frosted Heaven, Abby (and here is your second rainbow, as it didn't reach you the first time, a le *wink*), and dosqueen67.

Feeling the love folks, feeling the _loooove_ :D

The origin of Brittany's "bad spying" comment evolved from the fact I had to go see Skyfall. I was not a big fan of Skyfall. If you're a big fan of James Bond, go ahead and see it. If you're not a big fan of James Bond, go ahead and watch the Avengers. Or better yet, just go see Wreck it Ralph and get the soundtrack embedded into your brain. I pretty much had "Sugar Rush" stuck in my head the entire time I wrote this, despite the fact I only know like, five of the lyrics.

"_Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo SUGAR RUSH!" _

So…I'm rambling. That's cool. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and…

Until next time : )


	5. It's Time for a Holiday

Chapter 5

It's Time for a Holiday

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It was ultimately decided by Finn and Brittany that the Lima Bean was too public a place for them to share the delicate details of their newest assignment. Blaine had tried to protest because it wasn't like anybody ever really cared about what the glee kids were doing, especially not enough to eavesdrop on them (unless it was their parents maybe, but they were easy enough to spot what with being _their parents_). Finn's house was vetoed on the grounds that Sam, the person they were semi-investigating, shared a room with him, so eventually they all ended up at Brittany's, nursing their lattes and frappes or, in Brittany's case, ultimate hot cocoas with extra whip cream and rainbow sprinkles.

Blaine hadn't even been aware the Lima Bean _had_ rainbow sprinkles. In fact, he was almost certain they didn't. They probably just kept a shaker full underneath the counter on the off-hand chance Brittany showed up, for fear of Santana's wrath.

Blaine settled into an overstuffed armchair by Brittany's bed, trying not to wince at the painful late-80's style motif her room had taken on and reached into his backpack, digging out a notebook of his own since that appeared to be the thing to do. Finn and Brittany already had their respective notebooks open, splaying the pages across Brittany's colorful bedspread and contemplating them thoughtfully. Or, Finn was. Brittany seemed to be entertaining herself by finishing a picture of a pirate…cat, maybe, she had started earlier.

"Okay, so what I'm getting from all this," Finn began, tapping his pencil's eraser against the front of his notes. "Is that Mike had like a…dance book-thing that got stolen from…wherever he had it. And I _think_ Sam and Dave suspect that one of us did it."

"But why?" Blaine asked, frowning around the top of his to-go cup. "Lots of people know Mike's great at dancing. There are plenty of other suspects that would be more probable."

Blaine really wished Kurt had let him in on at least _a little_ of his secret planning. If he knew what his boyfriend was trying to do he could help steer Britt and Finn in the proper direction. Then again, Mike losing a choreography book _could_ really just be a coincidence, and he and Kurt's matchmaking plans for Dave and Sam could be something else entirely, which still left the problem of stolen personal property.

Finn chewed on his lip, then gave a shrug. "Maybe they're trying to cover all their bases, make sure none of us did it so they could move on to the real suspects."

Blaine took another sip of his latte and considered this. Briefly. Because it only took him that long to realize that there was a slight flaw in this plan. "Did any of us even _know_ Mike had a choreography book?"

Finn paused over his notes, pencil mid-stroke, and gave Blaine a confused look that was quickly conquered by realization, metaphoric light bulb going on over his head. He waved his hand above Brittany's doodle, capturing her attention. "Britt, _that's_ why they interviewed you. They were trying to see if you knew about it!"

"But I didn't," Brittany explained, minute pout pulling at the corner of her lips. "And besides that, Mike doesn't write his choreography down. He just knows it."

"So wait," Finn said, running a hand through his hair while he attempted to get a handle on the situation. "They're searching for a thing Mike doesn't actually…have?"

"He shouldn't," Brittany replied lightly, giving a casual shrug. "He always said his notes wouldn't make sense to anyone else anyway, and that's all they would be for because he doesn't need them."

"So Mike _doesn't_ have a notebook?" Blaine asked, leaning forward in his chair, his own spiral notebook sliding to the edge of his lap. "Then why would they be looking for-"

"Unless someone made him!" Brittany exclaimed, bouncing up quickly from her perch on the bed and sending her collection of gel pens flying onto the floor. "What if someone forced him guys? Or what if they were _secret_?!" She gasped, pressing her palms against both sides of her face, eyes wide in what could only be amazement. "What if he decided to try something new because he had so many dances and he didn't want to forget any of them because they are his babies and it's a crime to forget your babies! But he's shy and it's a secret so he kept them secret because he didn't want anyone to steal them and then _someone stole them!"_

She bounced on the balls of her feet, swiveling to stare back and forth between Finn and Blaine in wonder, sadness creeping into her eyes at the thought of her friend's misfortune.

"Guys," she whispered, clamping both hands over her mouth between bouts of speaking, as though their ears could not handle this marvelously epic notion she was about to bestow upon them. "He had a secret notebook."

Which…kind've made sense? Blaine wasn't sure, though it did support it being just a coincidence. He didn't know Mike very well, but he did know that the dancer was incredibly passionate about his work and guarded it fiercely. Up to this point, what Brittany said made sense; Mike never taught them anything from a notebook. But if he didn't want to forget anything, it was understandable for Mike to keep his notes to himself.

Though that did beg the question…

"If it was a secret, how would anyone _know_ to take it?" Finn asked, mind following the same thought process as Blaine.

"Maybe that's why they're focused on the glee club," Blaine suggested, snapping his free hand. "Maybe they figured Mike had spoken to one of us about the notebook in confidence-"

"But why would any of us take it?" Finn exclaimed, eyes shifting over to Brittany's nightstand where his frappe rested. His eyes were sad, like he could no longer take comfort in its caramel-ly goodness. "We're all friends, why would someone do that to Mike?"

"To antagonize him?" Blaine suggested.

"To antaga-whatever _Puck_," Finn replied, tapping his pencil against his bottom lip while he nodded thoughtfully.

"Wait, wait, wait," Blaine said, waving a hand to put a halt on their train of hypotheses. "We're ignoring the actually _knowing_ part. Someone either convinced Mike that he should start writing his stuff down or someone…" he trailed off, eyes widening at the more likely solution, then glanced back and forth between Finn and Brittany. "Maybe someone made a comment that made Mike _want_ to write his stuff down. But instead of just being some off-hand thing that was their intention all along, and _then_ they took his notes."

"How would they know he made it though?" Finn asked, erasing some of his past notes furiously and re-scribbling over them, trying to keep it as legible as possible. "Did they spy on him?"

"I don't know." Blaine sighed, flopping his head back against his (surprisingly) comfy chair. "All we have is a notebook that wouldn't normally exist somehow existing anyway, and we can't figure out why, except that it's a secret, and we can't figure out how anyone would _know_ the secret at all except obviously someone _did_ because Dave and Sam are investigating everyone-"

"Why wouldn't Dave and Sam know who it was?" Finn asked, startling Blain off of his ramble. "If Mike told somebody wouldn't Mike have like, mentioned that to them? Why would they need to interview Brittany?"

"Do you think Mike asked them to?" Blaine replied, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. None of this was making any sense. Granted, some of their base knowledge came from _Brittany_, but she seemed so certain the Mike would never write his choreography down.

"It's a conspiracy," Brittany muttered, reorganizing her colored pens across her bedspread while the other two exchanged theories. At their combined looks of confusion and intrigue, Brittany shrugged. "It has to be. None of us want to hurt each other anymore right? So maybe instead of taking Mike's notes for _evil_, someone took them for good." She nodded her head quickly, as though confirming it to herself, and reached for her hot chocolate. "Santana steals things all the time, which is bad, but she _makes_ it good by doing good things with them. Like giving them to me." She took a sip of her beverage and shrugged. "So maybe someone wanted to do good for Mike, but they had to make him sad first."

"That is…" Blaine dropped off, shaking his head slightly as he tried to wrap his brain around that suggestion. It wasn't happening, not really, but he thought he could grasp the general gist of it. "Highly improbable."

"That means unlikely right?" Finn asked, staring at Blaine intently now that he was done stewing over Brittany's declaration. At Blaine's nod and he continued, starting to look more confident. "Except with _us_ the most unlikely thing is like, the one with the greatest odds of happening. Like…" Finn trailed off, looking up towards the ceiling as he attempted to think of some examples. "Oh! Like that time we tried to sell all those cupcakes to raise money and no one bought any the first day and then like, _boom_, everyone loved them and we sold out. Or that time when the only people that showed up for our benefit concert was the heckling club. Like, not even any of our parents made it, or the band's parents or the orchestra's parents and that's a lot of kids for not a lot of parents. That's improbable right? Or how about that time Mike and Puck went on this crazy adventure in New York just to find an accordion so they could back me up with 'Bella Note' at the end of my date with Rachel, or the fact that Puck even knows how to play the accordion _at all__?_" Finn smiled brightly, sharing a high-five with Brittany on the completion of his speech and beamed at the other male teen. "Dude, our friends like, _thrive_ on improbability-ness."

"I uh…don't know half of what you're talking about," Blaine admitted, fidgeting under Finn's blaring enthusiasm. "Most likely happened before I got here, but I get what you're saying."

Except that last part with the accordion, that was old news to just about everyone in the glee club.

"Good," Brittany chirped, pumping a fist as she stared down at her drawing, trying to figure out which side to shade next. "Because he's only gonna say it one time."

"I uh…" Blaine trailed off and shared a look with Finn, one that clearly said the taller teen didn't care how many times he had to repeat something but they should go along with Brittany's declaration anyway, for time reasons.

"So," Blaine restarted, clearing his throat as he gestured to their multitude of notebooks. "What do we do now?"

Finn thought about this, then nodded. "We should keep an eye on the people who would want to do nice things for Mike."

"Like his girlfriend and boyfriend?" Blaine prompted, neatly taking down these notes. "Should we watch for secret dance rehearsals too? Someone could be trying to bring his dances to life."

He couldn't believe he was saying all this honestly, this stuff…this was bizarre but…well, Kurt and all the others had taken a shot at whacky, unrealistic side-adventures.

It was Blaine's turn to have one too.

"Couldn't hurt," Finn said. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, considering for a moment before he reached across Brittany and retrieved his frappe, deciding he had finally earned it.

"So basically we just have to make sure Sam and Dave don't do any lasting damage," Blaine summarized, keeping them all on the same page. "Since we're on the side that this missing book is a good thing…"

"We should also keep on our toes just in case it's…you know, _not_," Finn offered.

"It is," Brittany insisted, sending Finn a small glare at the gall he had to even _suggest_ it. "It has to be, we're all friends. And friends don't do mean things to each other."

"You know my best friend got my girlfriend pregnant once, right?" Finn asked, frowning around his straw at the memory.

Brittany shrugged. "Friends don't do mean things to _Mike_."

"But what about Puck?" Finn countered, setting his frappe back down on the nightstand. "They could be trying to get to him through Mike."

"Oh God," Blaine muttered, rolling his head back as the other two's bickering began to wash over him as they chased each other in conversational circles. "We're going to be here all night."

Three hours later they came to the undeniable conclusion that they were the _worst theorists _**_ever_** and had gotten unsurprisingly _nowhere, _excluding whatever small steps forward they had made in the initial fifteen minutes. By the end of it Finn had taken to ripping out most of the pages he had written that afternoon (except for the ones from Sam and Dave's interview), Brittany was rubbing Lord Tubbington to _"will the confusion away"_, and Blaine had a marvelously _stunning_ headache.

By the end of it they decided to forgo thinking altogether and elected to start tailing Sam and Dave. It would be much easier on their sanity if they just let _them_ deal with all the work.

Survival of the fittest, and all that.

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When they actually got the point where Mike's father accepted the fact that the garden lattice wall right under Mike's window was forever going to be used as Puck's personal ladder, entirely because of his bizarrely strong aversion to _doors_, Mike figured he was pretty much the winning-est winner who ever lived. Sure, his parents still viewed his dual relationships with Puck and Tina with tight smiles and mild confusion, probably waiting for what they perceived as the inevitable end to a phase, but they didn't outright condemn it, so Mike figured that had to count for something. They were accepting, in a small way, establishing the same rules for Puck that they had with Tina; enforced curfews, no sleepovers when they were both on business trips (which was often broken, but still), treat him with respect, etc., the whole nine yards.

They embraced that much. Or at least, they were clinging to the standards and rules they had always known to bring them a measure of comfort, something to ground themselves on in the changing winds, but either way, Mike didn't care. At the end of the day he still had Puck and Tina in a comfortable pile on his bed, he and Puck trying out Minecraft co-op on his X-box while Tina contented herself with a book, only pausing to laugh at their lack of coordination.

All-in-all, a pretty good day.

Mike was in the middle of crafting some more torches (because Puck could not grasp the fact that light equaled no monsters, so Mike had to keep running around and lighting any of the areas his boyfriend wandered into) whenever he felt his cell going off in his pocket, appropriately switched to vibrate after the last time Puck made fun of his ringtone.

Scrunching his nose, Mike reached into his pocket and whipped out his phone, plopping his controller on top of Tina's book as he did so. At her semi-annoyed stare he motioned for her to continue in his stead (she couldn't be _that_ much worse than Puck) and then pointed to his phone, indicating that he was occupied.

At her continued pout, Puck scoffed, smiling in satisfaction as his character discovered some iron ore. "You can play for a few minutes Lady Chang. Surely, this is not too big a challenge for you."

"Oh, I'll show you a challenge," Tina warned, picking up the controller with a smirk and turning to face the television. While the torches finished crafting she leaned over and squeezed Puck's side, his only minor-ticklish spot, and the mohawked-teen batted a hand at her in response, eyes forward on the screen but smile bright on his face.

Sam's name flashed on Mike's caller ID which could be…well, literally anything. Most likely it had to do with The Case. Capitalization intended, Kurt insisted, since it was the cover title for Operation Dave–and-Sam-FO'-LIFE. Or…for high school. Whatever, the point remained.

Mike frowned and switched his phone on, picking up the line. "What's up Sam?"

The blond sounded mildly annoyed when he answered, "You know, it _could_ be someone else."

"Well then, they would probably tell me," Mike replied, voice full of levity.

On the screen Tina kept getting the select-item and throw-item buttons confused, and the petite Asian cursed as she accidentally threw Mike's wooden hoe against a wall for what had to be the seventh time.

"Whatever," Sam huffed. "I've got some questions about the you-know-what. Are you alone?"

As if on cue Puck let out a long string of profanities, quickly backpedaling up the mine he had created as a spider popped in to view, trying to attack him in its eight-legged ferocity. Would probably be super effective too, considering how Puck had refused to put any armor on.

"Uh…" Mike mumbled, trying to think of a good way to counter Sam's solid exhale. "Can't we just…ule-ray hem-tay ut-oay?"

"Rule who out?" Tina asked, simultaneous with Sam's predictably confused _"What?"_ on the other end of the line.

Mike fought not to pout at his failed foray into Pig Latin.

"Multiple choice question," Mike explained, trying to think of a good lie that covered what they were talking out that also _wouldn't_ invoke Tina's wrath later. You know, in case she found out about it. "Ruling out the bad answers."

"In Pig Latin," she replied flatly, not quite believing it (which wasn't all that surprising, as she _was_ mostly draped across Mike's body and could feel his sudden tension.)

Maybe he should tell her…no, Kurt had been explicitly clear on that. The less people that knew, the more authentic it could be.

"We're working on it," he said, giving a few coughs to clear his throat.

"Nice one," Sam's voice chirped in his ear, sounding legitimately impressed despite his agitation.

"I try," Mike muttered. "Now what about your other questions…"

"_Fine_," Sam groused, surrendering once he realized Mike had no intention of parting from his current company. "I just need to know one thing. Was your notebook private?"

"…what?" Mike asked after a moment of befuddled silence, trying to figure out exactly what Sam was getting at.

The blond pressed onward. "Was it private? Did you _not_-want people to see it? Was it only meant for your eyes? Was-?"

A million things raced through Mike's head as the questions continued. Okay, realistically it was more like five, but still, Mike's mind was in a flurry. How should he respond? What was Sam thinking? What would narrow down the least amount of suspects? _Why_ was Sam asking this? Did he have a theory? Did that theory support the crime-committer being in the glee club- _of course_ it did because it was private and that's why- so he should- there should be words now, yes, that would be good-

"_Yes_!" Mike shouted, a little more enthusiastically than strictly necessary but still not disrupting his partners, who had taken his random outbursts in stride; barely even noticed them anymore.

He wasn't sure how that made him feel. No, scratch that, he did know.

It made him feel cozy. Cozy and loved.

"Yes," Mike muttered again, quieter, but all he could hear on the other end of the line was Sam's quiet _ah-hum_-ings as he wrote Mike's answer down. "So what does that-?"

"That really narrows it down," Sam replied, not even hearing him. "Thanks for your help Mike; I really think we're going to find this thing soon."

"But-" Mike began to protest, but the blond had already hung up on him, moving on to bigger and better things.

_Damn_. It narrowed it down? Mike needed to call Dave, see what was going on. What were they going to do when Sam got to the end of the line and found out the notebook didn't even exist? He would be…

An idea, slow but certain, came upon Mike, causing the dancer to drop his cell phone onto his nightstand carelessly, really giving his plan some consideration. The notebook didn't have to necessarily _not_ exist. It wasn't like he couldn't whip up a book full of stupid dance moves in an hour, or even half of one, that would still be enough. He had spare notebooks. Hell, Puck would be _all over_ an opportunity to doodle on something else, might even feel especially loved that Mike had made a request…

Mike reached over the side of his bed, ignoring Tina's sounds of protest at his movement, and dug around the bottom, shelf-like portion of his nightstand, where he kept all his spare supplies. He had picked a red notebook for the cover story for this exact reason, because he actually _had_ one, and-

"Puck," he said, smiling brightly as he discovered his blank notebook, pulling a sharpie out of his drawer for his boyfriend to draw with. "I have a request."

"Save it for later," Puck mumbled, eyes focused entirely on the screen in front of him.

"But _Puuuuck_," Mike pouted, staring forlornly at the side of his boyfriend's face. "It's important."

"Later," Puck muttered, resolutely not looking his way.

"_Puuuuck_," Mike whined, full out _whined_. He tilted his head in the other teen's direction, making it so that he was peering up at his boyfriend with the saddest, most doting eyes.

Eventually, the other teen sighed and made the mistake of looking over, intending to send the dancer an annoyed half-lidded look and immediately freezing once he caught sight of the expression on Mike's face. He paused, conflicted, and a second later Puck sighed, throwing the controller down and reaching over Tina for the proffered notebook and sharpie, settling them into his lap with a couple of grumbles.

"_Fine_," Puck muttered, uncapping the marker with his teeth. "What do you want?"

"Make it a dinosaur," Mike chirped, batting his eyes playfully before snatching up his controller, ignoring the minor gripes he received in protest at the action.

He smirked and maybe (okay, definitely) stuck his tongue out in response, turning his attention to the screen with a satisfied smile as he got back to work on the Heb-Asian City. They had been doing really well that day, despite their minor conflicts with teamwork. He had a feeling he could finish up the outer houses of the metropolis by the end of the night. All would be well.

Mike's joy lasted for half a second before he realized that their entire fortress, their main base camp, was _on fire_, and that Tina's character (as in, _his _character) had also taken to the flames, beating at them with a shovel unsuccessfully while her avatar grunted in pained protest.

"How…?" Mike began to ask, frantically looting through the untouched chests for water buckets.

"I didn't _know_ it was flammable," Tina griped, as though that explained it all.

Though, in a way in kind of did, if he added his fifty some-odd torches he had gifted Tina's inventory to her throwing/selecting confusion.

Sort of brought that one on himself.

Beside her Puck gave a knowing smirk, making careful strokes with his marker as he took satisfaction in Mike's disbelief. "Your problem now."

Mike stared at the screen, then down at his controller, and eventually settled back on Puck. "Can it be my problem later?"

"Nope."

"_Miiiike_," Tina replied, her (his) character now entirely surrounded by flames. "A little help?"

They should…Stone. That was the lesson of the day. Build shit with stone, not wood.

With a belabored sigh, Mike looked back to the screen. His windows had been properly destroyed too. He had been proud of those windows. "Okay."

"Don't sound so excited," Puck drawled sarcastically. "You're the one that gave her a controller."

Before Mike could reply, Tina frowned up at him, pouting. "I didn't _know_ it was_ flammable!"_

"You know," Mike said, interrupting whatever smart comment Puck had waiting in reply. Because there was one, and it would be harmless, but still- "I like us."

There was a pause, both of them a little thrown by that non sequitur, but eventually Puck shrugged.

"I like us too."

"Me three!" Tina chirped, immediately cheerful.

It just…it felt like the right thing to say.

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Sam smiled, flipping his phone shut with an air of triumph that mere mortals could never hope to match because he, Sam Evans, was making huge progress with his and Dave's very first case. There were several things to celebrate in, huge things really, things he never thought in a million years would have happened but like…did. Whatever, so he wasn't the best with words. The point was that Sam pretty much sat on top of the world at the moment, with several ridiculously awesome factors working in his favor.

Number one, and most important, was the fact that Dave had decided to go along with his detective agency idea. Which was…yeah, that was awesome. And it wasn't just like that _"Yeah, okay, whatever"_ half-assed business that Dave _could_ be doing just to humor Sam, because this really didn't seem like Dave's kind of thing. But like, he was into it, contemplating their mysteries with quiet intensity and thoughtfulness and that was…that was cool. That he actually did it. Sam was afraid he would have to resort to Mike or Puck or something because it was more their speed, but with them being all busy with, well, each other nowadays…

It wasn't that Sam didn't think to ask Dave first, because he did. Because while Sam liked Artie and Rory and Joe, and he liked spending time with Finn and Blaine (and even Kurt, whenever the other teen was willing to deal with him), Dave was like…he was chill, you know?

Maybe Sam liked him because they both sort've had baggage. Sam had already been out of his element whenever he'd initially moved to McKinley; he hadn't quite been a nerd at his old school but had never managed to hang out with the popular kids because he was, undoubtedly, a nerd on the inside. Thank God for people's superficiality; his moderately good looks and rockin' abs had managed to keep him off the radar of any close-minded hecklers. Which was cool, he could work with that, but when he got to McKinley he was stuck with the title "new kid", and that never did anyone favors. Not an easy thing to work with. He tried to be cool, tried to keep a low profile, but he just…he still wanted to have fun, be true to himself. Hell, you only lived once, might as well enjoy it.

So he joined the glee club, knowing the risks of potential hazing, and didn't regret it. It was alright being an outcast, so long as he got to do what he loved with people who cared about him. Who didn't make him try to change.

And then there was the homelessness and the homesickness, but that wasn't really the important part. Well, it was, for the baggage thing, but Sam was moving on to different points. Like, the no-compromising self-image business.

Maybe that was what Dave liked about Sam, because Sam was in on the whole…liking dudes thing, and Sam didn't care. Honestly, he was kind've glad; that meant Karofsky had been acting like a dick for a reason. Not a great one, but there _was_ one, at least.

It was a little sad, when he thought about it, because Dave had been like Sam in the beginning too. Just wanted to stay off of the bully hit-list, go with the status quo, to not like, own up to all of himself because not everyone _liked_ all the parts of him.

And that sucked. A guy like Dave (non-bullying Dave, the regular guy, who Sam hung out with) shouldn't have to deal with that crap. Shouldn't _have_ to be afraid of his own friends. And clearly he was. _Clearly_. But he couldn't let go because they _were_ his friends, but he still couldn't tell them. Because if he did, if they knew, they would probably turn on him instantly, as horrible an idea as that was. They would just throw all those years of friendship aside like it was _nothing_ and they probably wouldn't care all that much.

Hell, they would probably be _happy_, because Dave had the gall to color outside the lines of their cookie cutter world, so clearly they were better off without him.

It made Sam pissed just thinking about it. Made him mad that Dave had been so scared and desperate he had threatened to kill Kurt, and that he really, _really_ hated himself for all of it.

Sam could see that much, that quiet loathing. Not just for the…liking-guys thing, but because of how Dave had reacted to it.

That was how Sam had been able to tell that Dave was legitimately a nice guy, under all that gruffness. And he was distinctly refreshing, compared to all the Glee club kids. Like this giant rock of passive calmness, contemplating the world with the reason and logic of a normal seventeen year old guy and just…laid back, really. Nice. Dave was nice.

Which had been so _weird_ to Sam, because 'nice' and 'calm' didn't really fit in with his click. It had been so obvious at the " Puck/Mike Intervention", as Tina liked to call it, that he was kind've this amused spectator of their madness that had obviously gotten sucked in on accident, because he didn't fit in with all the outlandish theatrics of the New Directions kids.

And yet, because of that very fact, he fit in just perfectly. He was unique among the group of people that thrived on individuality.

Sam liked Dave's calmness, his sense of reason. It was comforting. Because Dave understood the words Sam was saying and could translate them to the real world, considering them briefly and offering alternatives. He just- he got Sam, and despite the fact Sam wasn't the uh…smartest guy in the world, and kind've had a short attention span, and liked testing out his impressions almost _all_ the time, Dave still liked to hang out with him.

And Sam really liked to hang out with Dave. Because Dave was like a big… teddy bear, in Brittany's words. He acted all mean but once you were "hugged" you got "loved".

As weird as it sounded, Sam sort've liked being "loved" by Dave. It meant there was this really awesome guy that didn't want anything from him except for friendship, and Sam could handle friendship.

There were a great deal of things Sam wasn't good at, but being a friend was not one of them.

Even if he was starting to become slightly… _territorial_ (because he had seen Dave _first_ (okay, so Mike had, but still-) so he should _come_ first, that didn't seem unfair), Sam would be a good friend. No, scratch that, a _great_ friend. An even better one than Azimio (even though that wouldn't be too hard).

In all honestly, Sam's only competition at this point was Mike, and seeing as the dancer was too busy having big kissy-face piles with his boyfriend and girlfriend, that pretty much left Sam as the undisputed champion of Dave's friendship.

…not that it was a competition.

But if it was, Sam _won_.

That was undeniable.

But even in all this, Sam couldn't help but view Dave as "normal". Because hey, in his neck of the woods, Dave was about as normal as you could get. And that wasn't bad, that was what Sam liked about him; see above, it just…

It made Sam wonder why Dave hung out with him, sometimes. Not like, not all the time, because clearly, Sam equaled most-winning-friend, but like-

With the detective thing. Sam didn't think Dave would go along with it, _at all_. In fact he had only brought it up as a joke, partially hoping anything would come from it but sincerely doubtful, intended to make Dave do that thing where he smiled and shook his head slowly as though to say _oh-you-and-your-silly-Sam-antics_ that he seemed to do for Mike _all_ the damn time. Did Sam want to do it? Yes, because he and Rory had gone on a Sherlock Holmes/James Bond kick and done a marathon over at Brittany's, the cheerleader joining them to alternate between tossing popcorn at their heads and commenting on James Bond's hair, holding Lord Tubbington up so that he could get a proper view of the television screen. Their marathon had left Sam _pumped_ over solving some mysteries, because life was short right? But he didn't think anything would come of it.

When Dave had just looked at him in response to his suggestion, studying the blond carefully with an expressionless look on his face, Sam _almost_ thought he was close to being dumped. As a friend. Friend-dumped. He wanted to find a way to shove the words back into his mouth, just, take them back, say he was stupid and laugh it off, a _ha-ha-dumb-blond-is-doing-dumb-blond-things_ moment that sometimes made Sam hurt inside, when he caught them, but he was willing to do it to prevent his sure to be friend-dumping.

A moment later, when Dave eventually shrugged and replied, _"Sure_, _I'll ask around_." Sam had been…shocked, was a good way to say it.

It didn't _nearly_ come close to explaining how ridiculously surprised Sam had been that he had not only retained his friendship status, but that Dave had _agreed_, but it was still a nice word.

Dave had agreed. Dave had agreed and actually set out, without Sam's prompting, to find them a case. And then he actually _found_ a case for them to work on, while Sam freaked out and did some frantic studying and started making an outline as to _how_ to start an investigation so he wouldn't look too (incredibly) stupid whenever he met back with Dave to start the actual case they _actually_ had.

Sam didn't…he didn't know how to feel about it. Because this, this was how he lived all the time, with these crazy quests and Mike-shenanigans and interventions and ridiculous, unconventional things just dropping into his life one after the other, all this drama that had just become the standard for how he lived, but it wasn't like that for Dave. And sometimes he wondered, what if Dave was just in it for the excitement? Not even in it for Sam at all, but just…so he could be himself, but he could _also_ be himself and do crazy things he would never have done before, for the same why-the-hell-not reason Sam did and…

It was stupid.

Sam had to tell himself that on a daily basis because it _was_ stupid. Dave risked his neck for not only Sam, but for the entire Glee club by distracting the jocks for them. Sam hadn't asked him to do that, he just did. Because he was a nice guy, underneath it all. And nice guys, guys like Dave, they didn't…they wouldn't use Sam. Not just for a laugh. It would be way too much effort for a joke that wasn't even that funny.

Dave was Sam's friend. And it wasn't just because Sam knew his secret, and that Dave could be himself around Sam without worrying or whatever, it was because Dave liked hanging out with Sam.

It wasn't because his new pal Mike was suddenly occupied or anything, and Sam was just an easy replacement.

Nope, not that at all.

And it wasn't like Sam would ever ask Dave that anyway, it would be insulting. And like…majorly pathetic. So he wouldn't do that thing.

Dave was just a guy after all, just another guy friend. Sam had plenty of those, and all of them were awesome.

And maybe he was thinking about this stuff so much because Dave was new and he was…not crazy, so it made sense, for Sam to focus so much of his attention on it.

See, logic. That was _totally_ reasonable.

But it-

Nah, Sam was just being stupid. Which he excelled at, but still, he needed to get back on task. He was a winner. He was victorious. He had not _only_ successfully crossed Brittany off their list of suspects, but he narrowed down their primary suspects pool, all by himself without even having to brainstorm with Dave about it or anything. He did good.

No, he did _great_.

Dave would be so proud of him, being all like…intuitive and stuff. Taking initiative.

With the notebook going into the realm of "personal", that moved Kurt and Puck to the top of their suspect list (with Rachel hovering in the wings) and yeah, they had already been on the top before, but at least now Quinn and Sugar could be pushed down onto the secondary investigation list due to their motives of "insanity".

Yeah, Sam was good. And he would just keep telling himself for as long as he needed to hear it. He figured out after awhile that the person who would be the most patient with himself _was_ himself, so if anyone was going to be his cheerleader, it would be him.

And no one could criticize him for that.

No one.

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Endnotes:

I just…I want to note that I _too_ got confused during the detective trio's bit. So it had to end, because it sort of hurt my head to write, but it needed to be done. Future exploits with them will be less theory-driven and more along the line of crazy, thoughtless shenanigans, but I felt this needed to be done.

So…yes.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I know, just a regular ole' thank you this week, but I figured, can't go wrong with the classics right? Still just as heartfelt. So here's a shout out to Frosted Heaven, dosqueen67, and Abby (thank you for the cookie, and double cheers for catching the Starkid reference, GO TEAM!), the coolest kids in school.

See "Life is Pandemonium" for the Mike/Puck adventure of finding an accordion in New York that Finn mentioned in his improbable-speech. There isn't any actual slash in it though. Just pre-slash _grr_-face times. It is the start of over-reactive Mike.

Minecraft was the only game I knew for sure had a same-system co-op mode, which was why I ended up choosing it. For those of you who don't know anything about video games, you are basically given a free world to play in. You can make whatever you want from whatever resources you can find (in this case, the Hebr-Asian City). Monsters come out at night, or any caves and such that are unlit. You have just been game-knowledged. You're welcome ; )

Until next time


	6. It's Now Or Never

Chapter 6

It's Now Or Never

Warning: Language, a lot of language. The boy's have a bit of a potty mouth this chapter.

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Despite whatever eccentricities her friends believed motivated Rachel's more…extreme behavior, she would like the record to show that she was not, in fact, snooping. Not that it was against her nature, because for whatever reason most of the people she knew tended to neglect mentioning certain happenings to her as they occurred, forcing her to delve into the territories of snooping just so she wouldn't get left behind on the current events of her social group. It wasn't something she was proud of, but she knew that some viewed her as too loud or abrasive or willful so it was understandable that she would pose as an intimidating figure when it came to sharing the latest gossip. She was simply too strong. There was nothing wrong with that.

But even with that fresh in her mind, Rachel could honestly say she hadn't been snooping. It had not been her intention.

Kurt had invited her over for a girl's night, helping her comb through her newest heap of fashion magazines to pick out potential candidates for a prom dress. All they needed were ten or so more dresses before they could pit them against each other tournament style, weighing her options against each other until there was only one dress left. She and Kurt had already prepared a poster board for this activity; the dresses that were already selected fixed into position, there were just a few more holes to fill. Of course, the night would end with facials and manicures, with a constant stream of soap operas playing in the background as indication of what acting techniques she and Kurt should avoid learning, as was usual for their girl nights.

Though that was all put on hold when Kurt got a very pressing phone call from Brittany, and now he was patiently listening to his cell phone, a confused cheerleader on the other end of the line seeking his guidance for…something or other. Rachel wasn't really sure, she hadn't snooped-

She hadn't…_chatted_ with the blond teenager lately. Perhaps she should rectify that situation.

When it became obvious that the conversation wasn't going to end anytime soon Rachel ducked out the door, deciding to go down to the kitchen to refill her drink. She paused by Finn's room, now empty as her fiancé and Sam were over at Mike's playing video games. It was bizarrely lifeless without them there, but also…lonely. Silly to think that, she knew. The room was vacant, of _course_ it would feel empty, but it was just such a large contrast to the near constant stream of boisterous life Sam and Finn filled it with it couldn't help but be noted.

Poetic observations aside, the room was a bit of a mess, with clothes strewn across the floor and books spilling out of the two boy's backpacks and obviously, she couldn't in good conscious just leave it that way. Rachel would just… tidy up a bit, nothing radical, just, make the room a bit more comfortable and organized. Everyone liked organization, it made things easier to find. It would be a nice little surprise for Finn and Sam whenever they came home. A little something to let them know she was thinking about him (and Sam too, she supposed).

It just so happened that when Rachel got around to organizing the books in Finn's backpack (because stacking the books smallest to largest made it easier to carry, _everyone knew that_) she accidentally stumbled upon…well, she wasn't sure what it was. The notebook had been splayed open, haphazardly leaning against the backpack and the floor. Usually she wouldn't have noticed it or paid it any attention because these were Finn's private things and she _didn't_ snoop (on Finn), were it not for the fact that the hastily scrawled writing looked a bit like a script.

And with that discovery how could she possibly _not_ give it a look? If Finn was finally exploring other outlets for his creativity like Rachel had been pressing him to how could she simply turn a blind eye? Playwriting, or maybe it was for a short film, it didn't matter, she was just so proud he had given it a try. He probably hadn't told her because he wanted it to be a surprise, or maybe he was feeling unsure of his skill and had kept it a secret until he had it perfect, but if that were the case then Rachel could put his mind at ease right now by reading it herself. After that she could give him some light criticism mixed with a follow up of moral support, perhaps convince him to write in a strong, female lead. Obviously, it would do Finn a load more of good for her to read it so she could allay his fears. It was for the best.

This decided, Rachel quickly flipped back to the start of the scene, where Finn had hurriedly scribbled the title "B- Interrog.".

She briefly wondered what meaning the "B" possessed. Was this an alternate route for the scene? Or simply the second one, with "A" preceding it?

Whatever, she would figure it out later. For now Rachel would focus on the second half of the title. Clearly, it was an abbreviation for something that Finn had felt too pressed for time to bother spelling out. Only two options came to mind though, the words "interrogatory" and "interrogation". Being that Finn most likely had no idea what the first word meant, Rachel opted for the second choice. Interrogation then. It must be some kind of detective drama or something.

A fleeting thought tickled the back of Rachel's mind at the idea, the memory of Sam and Dave's similar "detective" business coming to light.

_Ah_, so that was it. Finn must have been inspired by their actions, deciding to use their antics to stimulate his creative juices. Brilliant, that was her man.

Title determined, Rachel scanned down to soak in her fiancé's words, eager to see what his first hand at fiction would be.

The first line read:

B – "_Can I hug -? I like love-t-bears & not fair you hog-"_

Which was…not _exactly_ the quality of work Rachel had been hoping for. It barely made any sense, why-

She shook her head a few times, trying to clear her mind. She would just keep reading, maybe this was a style thing.

Second line:

S – _"Ok B! I have quest., why u r here, & I here, so let's quest. ask."_

Oh, goody. Now Finn was using chat speak. He couldn't even be bothered to properly write out the lines? How could-? She had specifically _told_ him about the creative process, how was he supposed to write a script if it didn't make any sense?!

But something odd struck at Rachel, beneath her veil of mild exasperation. All the words were scrawled quickly, words abbreviated like Finn had been rushing to keep up with the flow of conversation which was…odd? Definitely odd, but also- No, it was still odd. If he had been writing a scene he wouldn't have to rush to get the words out, they would still be in his head, right? That was how it always worked for Rachel. Then again, she and Finn could have two completely different approaches when it came to writing, he could have just wanted to be extra sure he got it all written down before neatening it up but…

This felt so much more like the notes he took down in class (the few times he _did_ take notes in class), words abbreviated and written with such obvious haste so he wouldn't fall behind, so he could keep the meat of the subject and not worry about the extraneous parts, the words that _mattered_ in a script.

Perhaps it wasn't a script at all; perhaps Finn had been…spying?

That raised several conflicting emotions in her, though Rachel managed to push aside the pride in favor of focusing on _why_ Finn had been spying. If that was in fact what he had been doing. And on who? And why? And _why_ hadn't he told Rachel?

Maybe he hadn't wanted to worry her but…

Rachel moved on, flicking through the pages quickly to see if the pattern of rushed, abbreviated words ever changed. And sure enough a good ten, messy pages later Rachel stumbled upon what she assumed was a transcript of Finn's earlier writing, drafted in what was undeniably Blaine's neatly scripted print.

The title this time was _"Brittany's Interrogation"_ with the helpful key of _"B – Brittany, S – Sam, and DK – David Karofsky"_ as a tiny subtitle.

Oh, _oooh_, so that was what he had been up to. Finn had, or was, for some odd reason, taking notes for Sam and David's case. Though why he (and now apparently Blaine) was involved, Rachel didn't know. Perhaps he was doing a favor for Sam or something.

It didn't matter now anyway. Whether or not Rachel had been spying earlier, she was _definitely _willing to cast her dignity aside and browse through this "interrogation" in Finn's notebook. It was simply too titillating to pass up on. And it wasn't like it was going to be serious anyway; it was probably nothing, so Finn wouldn't mind. She would just get to be in on the game now. Maybe _she_ could take notes for Sam and David. Much cleaner, nicer notes.

Motive validated, she moved on.

For the most part Rachel was right; a majority of the conversation between Sam and Brittany was as nonsensical as it was expected to be, leading in mindless, if entertaining, circles. Eventually it became obvious that Sam and David were searching for a missing notebook for Mike which was...mildly upsetting. Mike was arguably one of the best choreographers around, if someone had maliciously stolen his dance moves it could prove fatal to New Directions, especially if it was used against them. However, Sam and Dave were questioning _Brittany_ of all people on the subject, which led Rachel to believe that this missing notebook was less of an urgent issue and more of an opportunity for the two football players to play at being detectives. There was nothing wrong with that, Rachel figured. Were it truly a matter of great importance Mike would have informed the rest of the glee club. This was just…boys being boys.

There were just two things that kept bugging her though.

Or, two questions really. Both asked by Brittany. Both of which were intended for David's benefit.

Normally, the oddities of Brittany were something with which Rachel didn't bother herself. They were beyond her control and attempting to find reason or purpose for them would only result in an exercise of time ill spent and a splitting headache. However, she had come to learn that when there was _consistency_, any sort of consistency, that meant that in Brittany's world there _was_ a reason. It might be ridiculous, it might be irrelevant, but there was a reason.

Brittany, for motivations unknown, was attempting to help David by…getting information on Sam.

The cheerleader's questions didn't last very long because eventually Sam got her sucked into the purpose for his interrogation but still, those two questions at the very beginning, there was meaning to them.

Rachel knew that Finn had most likely ignored this, assumed like many others that Brittany was simply being Brittany - an odd, wayward duck - but Blaine on the other hand…

He kept Brittany's company more often than most, with his constant tutoring and occasional assistance with glee choreography. He should have known, if he had transcribed the scene, that something was amiss. He would have said something.

There were notes after the scene, all in Finn's handwriting, most of them scribbled out and senseless, but there were no references to Brittany's two questions. Nothing that indicated a need to look closer. Perhaps Rachel should ask if Blaine had his own notes, maybe he knew something he had forgotten to share with Finn or-

"Rachel, the point of being in a relationship is that you no longer _have_ to slink through your boyfriend's things like a creepy stalker. You can just do that when he's here, you know Finn doesn't care."

Kurt's sudden intrusion caused Rachel to jolt, dropping the notebook she had been so intensely studying, causing her friend to let off a low series of laughs as he made his way beside her, staring down at the lined paper with a semi-interested look on his face.

"And what do we have here?" he asked, nudging the thing with his foot. "He's not trying to write another song is he?"

"No," Rachel replied, forcing herself to keep focused and not diverting her attention to the idea of potential song lyrics. "I think its notes for Sam and David's investigation. Do you know anything about it?"

She had been retrieving and delicately smoothing out the pages of the notebook as she asked her question so she didn't immediately pick up on Kurt's change in demeanor, how the smile on his face fell a little, becoming a mask for whatever thoughts he held inside.

"Nope," the other teen replied, his tone oddly light, causing Rachel to look up at him in. She tried to keep the concern off of her face, schooling her features into innocent curiosity (as it had been before) while she studied his expression.

She knew that look. She knew that look all too well. She _had_ to, or else she wouldn't know anything that was going on!

Kurt was wearing that ever-familiar expression of hidden surprise, leading Rachel to believe he had _not_ known about Finn's participation in…whatever Sam and David were doing, but he was also wary, not eagerly dropping down to her level to snoop right along with her (because he could claim his innocence as much as he wanted but they all knew he was just as nosy as she was). Whatever this was, this secret, he was in on at least part of it. And whatever that part _was_ he didn't feel like including Rachel, which was fine, he was allowed his secrets, but-

"You should put that back," he chided, clucking his tongue before sending her a playful wink. "We have facials to do."

"Of course," Rachel replied, brilliant, _oh-I-would-love-to _smile coming to her face effortlessly. "Just give me a minute."

"Ok, but make it a quick one," Kurt called from over his shoulder, already exiting the room. "There are magazines with our names on them!"

"I wouldn't dare keep you waiting!" Rachel yelled back, grin transforming into a more heartfelt and honest expression, and she looked back down at the notebook in her hands, already sliding it back inside of Finn's backpack.

If Kurt was trying to keep her out of the loop that meant Rachel shouldn't even bother asking Blaine what was going on. And she wanted to know, even if Brittany's questions were just a random whim with no meaning, even if the main picture here was something different, Rachel knew she would not be satisfied until she at least _tried_ to figure out the reason the cheerleader had asked them.

That left her with only one option then.

She would just have to schedule some girl time with Brittany. Get it from the horse's mouth herself.

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Sam made sure he kept quiet about his amazing leaps (leap, singular, but whatever, it could be leaps if he wanted it to be) forward in the case. Now that he knew the notebook had been private he could focus his efforts on Puck and Kurt.

Yeah, it was just him on this one, but he did actually have a reason. It wasn't like he was trying to hog the glory all to himself.

See, Sam knew that the entire point of recruiting a partner in crime-detecting was to like, work _with_ them, because two minds were far mightier than one, but he just…he wanted to prove himself a bit. Show that he wasn't just an airhead. It wasn't like Dave had asked him to, or that the other teen ever treated him like Sam was some kind of burden that he was just keeping an eye on, but just- Sam wanted this, okay? He wanted to show that he was equals with Dave, at least in this.

And maybe Sam just…wanted to impress the other teen just a little bit, though that was debatable because Sam could never figure out _why_ he would want to impress Dave. He didn't need to establish any kind of dominance or prove his worth or anything, there weren't any tests Sam needed to pass.

Just, for some odd reason, Sam wanted this moment where he brought all of this uncharacteristic, well-thought out work before his fellow bro just to _see_ his eyes light up in surprise, and then maybe a little pride, in Sam, for what he had done.

It didn't seem that odd, and the fact that Sam couldn't think of a reason for this behavior didn't bother him all that much. He wasn't a pro-reason kind of guy anyway, but there was something a little needy about these desires that didn't sit well with him. Like, at all.

Dependability, was that the right word? Yeah, that could be it. Sam didn't like this sudden _dependability_ he had with Dave. It wasn't like he needed the other guy for everything, he had managed to get by just fine without him, but now it was…it was bothering Sam.

Because he was spending all this time with Dave right? And at first Sam didn't think anything of it because hey, they were doing pretty awesome things. They were detecting like real pros, hashing out theories and bagging evidence and keeping accurate logs and stuff. Sure it was work, but it was _cool_ work, so Sam didn't mind it so much. And it was understandable that working on their case took up a lot of time, because it was a _case_, and it wasn't like Sam could abandon it or anything just because it took a little work, Mike was depending on them.

But then there were these other times. Like, all the times that Dave tutored Sam after school and all the times they spotted for each other when lifting weights or went jogging together. Nowadays Sam didn't even think whenever he wanted someone to come over to watch Avatar with him, or who he cold rope into helping him decipher Kurt's instructions whenever the other teen made him cook dinner, he just called Dave. Sam never put any thought into picking anyone else, or trying to figure out who had time or who would actually _want_ to, because he already knew who to call.

And that was a red flag right? Because with the fast bombardment of all this crazy stuff just attacking Sam's life, with Mike's relationship problems and the Glee club and school and being homesick and still trying to do odd jobs on the side, Sam had slowly realized that the _one thing_ that most males did in high school was a thing that had somehow slipped between the cracks him.

That was right; Sam's focus on wooing the ladies was now woefully nonexistent.

If he had spare time shouldn't he be at least _trying_ to flirt with girls? Any girl, it didn't matter, he just- there should be _something_ right?

But every time Sam thought about that for even just a second, with, _"Why don't I try a girl this time?"_ his mind immediately thought that would be _way_ to much hassle and not as relaxing and it ends with him inevitably calling up Dave.

And the thing that sort of worried Sam the most about the entire situation, when this finally dawned on him, was that he didn't actually care.

Which sounded stupid, because that meant like, he was mature right? The fact that his life had other priorities besides girls _had_ to be a good thing but it, it just felt so weird, because Sam never pictured himself as a mature kind of guy. He had just been happily plodding along through life and then – _bam –_ everything was different. Like, different, but still the same. He still did the same things but now he just, he _thought_ different, which was… good?

So Sam didn't think about making out all the time anymore, he was almost certain Kurt would say that was a good thing, but Sam couldn't help but mourn the loss. He wondered if he was just too tired to even try anymore, if this personal evolution was going to permanently hinder his want to at least _attempt_ to get some action, and Sam found that while that was kind've the case, it still didn't bother him. Or maybe it sort of did? He wasn't sure, around this point his head had really started to hurt and things were getting a little too deep for him, so Sam had backed off the personal introspection and moved on.

Of course, there was still the nagging fact that Dave always came when Sam called him, that he wasn't bothered by the massive amounts of time they spent together and…well, Sam didn't know how to feel about that either.

Yeah, he knew he covered this, that Sam was the coolest dude in on Dave's secret so _of course_ he would hang out with Sam, but like, what if Sam's new…_dependency_, what if that was bad for Dave too? What if Sam was hogging all the Dave-time and Dave liked being himself around other people too much to ever turn Sam down? What was that then, like a, what was the word Kurt had used, harmful codependency? And Sam was…_enabling_, that was the word. Sam was an enabler, maybe, if he wasn't like, over thinking things.

He should try talking to Kurt about this, maybe help out his Dave-dependency by getting Dave some of the action Sam possibly/maybe didn't want anymore.

Would that be cool? That was an okay thing to do right? Help a bro out?

Even if it involved other bros?

_Ugh_, all that stuff was making Sam's head hurt, he needed to focus. Maybe the first step to ending his Dave-dependency would be to _stop_ _thinking about Dave_. That could, you know, _possibly_ help.

Sam had a case to work anyway. One with which he was making awesome progress.

His first target for interrogation was Puck. Mostly because the mohawked-teen was going to be the first suspect Sam would see after finally coming up with his set of perfectly subtle questions to ask. Since he wouldn't have any good cop (Dave) to play off of, Sam had to be especially careful when it came to making his inquiries. He didn't want to mess up and spook Puck if he was, in fact, the culprit. Sam had to play things _just_ right if he wanted to impress his- alright, enough of that crap, _focus Evans_.

It had worked out pretty nicely.

About a week after his conversation with Mike (a conversation that had been kept the most secretest of secret), the dancer had invited Finn and Sam over to play some Left 4 Dead 2. Finn had eagerly agreed, toting his Xbox and blond roommate over to the other teen's house in record time, allowing them a mostly full evening of zombie slaying. It was a given that Puck would be there, even if Mike hadn't mentioned it, because nothing short of incarceration could keep Puckzilla away whenever his boyfriend and video games happened to collide.

Sam had been slightly nervous then, not because he wasn't prepared or anything, but because he still had to figure out a way to get Puck alone long enough to ask his questions. Sam didn't want Mike to know he considered the other teen's boyfriend one of the prime suspects, and he also didn't want Finn to get caught up in the crossfire if things got messy. The leader of the glee club and Puck had finally managed to regain a solid relationship again; there was no need to screw things up with just a maybe. Even if it was a _strong_ maybe.

Not that Sam was biased or anything.

(Though to be fair, his money was still on Kurt).

Fortunately, Lady Luck decided to smile on Sam and about an hour into the death and destruction of a zombie apocalypse Mike made the discovery that they were down to their last can of Coke. It sucked because hey, what was video games without the proper fuel right? But it was also understandable, because four guys could go through a twelve pack of sodas like it was nobody's business.

Though it soon became apparent that the speed of Coke depletion was greatly enhanced if Puck just _happened_ to go through half of the twelve pack before ever mentioning it to Mike.

So they had their usual bout of Mike exasperation and Puck indifference that led to shouting and ranting and then kissing and making up (at which point Finn and Sam had respectfully averted their eyes) and then Mike decided the just punishment of forcing Puck to make a drink run and explaining, very explicitly, that he would not be welcomed back until he replenished what he had taken.

Sam, being the bro that he was, had cheerfully volunteered to keep the other teen company, and that was how he came to have his alone time with Puck, the car ride to the grocery store perfect for asking the subtly sneaky questions he had his heart set on sneakily asking.

It couldn't have worked out better if he had planned it.

"So," Sam started brightly, drumming his fingers against the passenger side window as he watched suburban Lima pass by in a blur. "You and Mike-"

"Dude," Puck interrupted, sounding mildly annoyed. "We are not chicks and we are not having this conversation."

Sam blinked, and…well, felt pretty stupid, because he totally should have seen that coming. But he didn't panic. Nope, it didn't matter if the beginning of his super planned out interrogation had already managed to go horribly astray, he would just have to improvise. Think on his feet (though Sam could just hear the amused snickers of his peers as he thought that, but screw them, he could _do_ this), like a real detective. He would be fine.

The blond opened his mouth to protest. "But I'm not-"

"Nope," Puck replied stubbornly, immovable on the subject. "Just because I like making out with a dude-"

"That's not what I-"

"-doesn't mean I'm going to suddenly turn into a gossip monger." Puck continued, talking right over Sam's objection. As they pulled up to a red light he leveled a quick glare at the other teen, letting Sam know his feelings on the subject were final, and the blond forced himself not to give into his automatic reaction of pouting. He couldn't help it; it was like, instinctive, but-

_Focus Evans_.

Outside Sam's mental tirade Puck continued, slowly pushing down on the gas as the light turned green. "I wouldn't budge when Kurt tried to grill me for info and I'm not doing it now, even if you're my bro. There are limits Sam."

"But-"

"_Limits,_" Puck repeated with a determined nod, eyes still focused on the road.

The declaration was followed by a few seconds of frantic thinking on Sam's part, wondering just exactly what he was supposed to do _now_. The goal had been to figure out how Puck was feeling with his ratio of Mike-and-Puck-time to deprived-of-Mike-time to see if Puck was cool with that, but that required talking about their relationship which, unfortunately, required actual _talking_.

Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but Sam kind've had a goal here, which was probably why he had never previously bothered with the sneaky-manipulating side of glee club of which all the other members seemed so fond.

He couldn't just give up though. He had to figure out something, _find_ a way to make Puck talk.

He pressed on.

"Look dude," Sam began, irritation edging into his tone. "I'm not asking for details here, I just want to know if you guys are like…cool, you know?"

Yeah, friendly concern, that worked. Mike _was_ one of Sam's really close friends, close enough that the blond helped him pick up a broken heart and start dating _Puck_ of all people, so it was totally legit for Sam to be curious.

Puck glanced at the other teen, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit before his attention was back on the road. "You mean you want to know if _Mike's_ happy," he stated, translating Sam's comment.

The blond shook his head, sitting up straighter as his body was suddenly attacked by a wave of panicked tension. "You guys are both-"

"Relax blondee," Puck drawled, his left hand sliding off of the wheel until it rested on his thigh, his fingers drumming against the rough denim of his jeans thoughtlessly. "I'm not offended. You and Mike have always been tight."

"Yeah, we…" Sam dropped off, shoulders sagging in relief. Man, this was harder than he had thought it would be. "Just, it's good right?"

They pulled up to another red light just as Sam finished his question, though this time Puck kept his eyes ahead, something Sam realized that he should probably start doing because like, if you were going to have these kind of personal conversations with a guy it was an obvious that you had to downplay them as much as possible, minimal eye contact and all that. Sam appropriately turned his attention towards his window. _Stupid_, he had been slipping.

"Yeah," Puck replied after a brief pause. "We're doing good. Tina does this stupid thing where she gives us status reports, just so there's no miscommunications." The driver scoffed, rolling his head back until it thumped against his black headrest, eyes closed as though he was dealing with a great burden. "Honestly, sometimes I think she sticks around just because she's afraid we're too stupid to manage on our own."

"I don't know _where _she would get that idea," Sam mumbled quietly, despite his better judgment, and Puck snapped his head to the side, eyes narrowing.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Sam quickly responded, words tumbling out of his mouth. "So you're all good? No problems with like, parents or kids at school, or…time management?"

Sam had planned out his list carefully and offered out his last option as nonchalantly as possible, like it was run-of-the-mill stuff, and beside him Puck nodded absently, accelerating the car as the light turned green.

"Nope," Puck replied, picking up Sam's cue. "Which surprised the hell out of me. Turns out his parents don't give a crap. They're all for _love_ and _support_ and you know, all that usual touchy feely shit."

"And at school?" Sam prompted, clearing his throat.

"We've tried to keep it on the down low," Puck said, eyes searching through traffic as he made a slow turn. "We've only got a few more months anyway, and I'll be damned if someone starts stirring up trouble just because we're doing something they don't like."

Puck finished the turn quickly, causing Sam to rock to his right as the car straightened back out.

"Nope," Puck continued, hands gripping the wheel. "That is not how Puckzilla operates."

"Good," Sam said half-mindedly, already focused on his next line. "And with the uh, time management?"

There was another pause, way longer than Sam would have wanted it to be (though to be fair he wouldn't have wanted a pause to exist _at all_, not at that point), and the blond fought against his urge to start fidgeting or acting like his question was out of the blue, because it wasn't _damnit_ it was _fine_, but then the seconds drew out longer as Puck continued to not respond. He was just merrily driving down the road, getting closer and closer to their grocery store destination and then- there it was, a look, Puck eyeing the side of Sam's face suspiciously or thoughtfully or any of the "ully's" that Sam _didn't_ want him thinking about, so the blond prepared himself for the worst.

It came as a kind of relief whenever Puck eventually asked, "Did Kurt put you up to this?"

Sam was proud to say that his remarkably confused reaction had been one hundred percent natural, no acting or playing dumb necessary. It was just him, pure befuddlement, and a mildly annoyed jock staring at him in an expression that was certainly _not_ appreciative, leaving Sam too puzzled to be able to over-think the situation.

So he really didn't put much thought into his answer, he just said it, words spilling forth naturally as Sam tried to figure out _what the hell_ was going on.

"What? No," Sam replied, shaking his head and giving Puck one of his signature looks of confusion. "Why would Kurt-?"

"I dunno," Puck grunted, fixing his eyes back on the road once he realized the legitimacy of Sam's bewilderment. "Just seems like a Kurt-like kind of question."

"What does that even mean?" Sam asked, more to himself than the other teen, but that seemed enough for Puck, who went ahead and responded to his question.

"Exactly," Puck mumbled, eyes catching sight of the grocery store off in the distance, a little further down the road. "Time management? That doesn't make any sense, even by your standards."

"Hey-" Sam rose up in his seat, objecting the other teen's statement. He was _not_ that confusing. "It makes _perfect_ sense."

"Oh really?" Puck goaded, eyeing the blond briefly, doubt evident in his features. "Then explain it Einstein."

"It's just-" Sam began, then snapped his mouth shut, forcing himself to put some actual _thought_ into his response. After a few calming breaths he looked back at Puck, who was turning his truck into the parking lot. "Like, since there's three of you, do you get to spend enough time with him?"

They fell into another thoughtful silence, but at least this time Puck was considering Sam's question, taking a few minutes to sit and ponder his answer after he successfully parked his truck. His hands drummed restlessly against the steering wheel, eyes focused on some far off point in the distance way beyond the hood of the vehicle. Sam was almost afraid to break him out of his trance, so he chose not to, instead settling himself in against the side of his window, keeping his back to the door. Just, getting a little closer to his exit.

By the way Puck suddenly gripped at the wheel, knuckles clenched and rigid with all the negative emotions Sam would rather Puck _never_ be feeling, then there was the slightest chance he would need to make a strategic exit. Just, for his safety, maybe.

"So what," Puck ground out, jaw tight when he finally darted his eyes back over to Sam, "You think I'm going to be a neglectful boyfriend? That I'd just push Mike aside like I did before? Is that it?"

"No!" Sam's exclaimed, surprised. That wasn't what he had meant _at all_.

Puck narrowed his eyes at him, not fully convinced. "Then _what_? What the hell could you _possibly_ mean?! You think I don't treat him right? That I'm just going to ignore him and date by my own rules, my time? Are you supposed to bring on some kind of epiphany that makes me see the errors of my ways? _What?_ Spit it out Evans!"

"That's not what I meant at all!" Sam replied frantically, not succeeding in keeping his voice calm. "I just- I wanted to make sure he was spending enough time with you-"

"Like I'm some kind of charity case?!" Puck bellowed, lurching forward into Sam's personal bubble. "That's real sweet guppy lips, but you can take your Good Samaritan crap somewhere else. Mike and I are _fine_, and I'm not letting you make me doubt that because that shit only leads to lectures from Tina and _then_ lectures from Mike and sure, the 'kissing it better' part afterwards is really great, but it's a hell of a lot better to actually _look_ like I wear the pants in our relationship just a _little_ bit. I don't have to, but for appearances sake I can't be so goddamn _insecure_ all the time. You hear me?" Puck asked, turning back to Sam, as over the course of his rant he had started raging at the windows, gesturing his arms towards some invisible audience.

He jabbed a finger against Sam's chest. "So _what_ the hell-?"

"Mike's notebook got stolen!" Sam burst, unable to deal with the wrath of Puck. The other teen paused, frozen still, clearly not expecting that as a possible response, and Sam sagged back against his seat, disappointed in himself.

Great. Just _great_. He had blown it. A little grilling from Puck and he had collapsed like a house of cards.

Some detective he was.

"…you want to repeat that?" Puck asked after a few seconds, still posed menacingly over the console, no longer concerned with the fact there was very little space between them as he tried to figure out what was going on.

The blond sighed morosely, avoiding the other teen's eyes as he continued to berate himself. The only option he had left was to come clean.

"Mike's notebook got stolen," Sam repeated, tapping his foot nervously against the truck's aged carpet, keeping his head turned away in an effort to get some distance between them. "So I was interrogating you to see if you had a motive."

Puck stared at him; face blank as he took Sam's information in, _still_ not moving from his hunched-over positioned, and stared up at the ceiling, apparently in deep thought. After a few seconds his eyes flicked back to Sam. "This is about that stupid detective thing isn't it?"

"It's _not_ stupid," Sam protested instantly, bristling at the insult, and he folded his arms across his chest, not caring if it brought him that much closer to Puck. "It's legit. We even have a case-"

"Oh," Puck chortled, chin dropping to his chest, narrowly missing the top of Sam's arms as he properly expressed _his_ opinion on the subject. "The case of the missing notebook, how ever could I doubt your investigative status? Please, _please_ forgive me Evans I didn't mean to offend-" he dropped off his sarcastic rant suddenly, eyes lighting up as thought something dawned on him, and the mohawked-teen snapped his head up, zeroing in on Sam, expression turned thoughtful. "Wait, did Mike _actually_ lose a notebook?"

"Yes," Sam replied, unable to hold back his bitterness at the other's mockery. "It was his choreography notebook too. We think someone stole it-"

"Wait," Puck interrupted, signing with his free hand for Sam to rewind a few seconds. "Do you mean the one I drew a dinosaur on?"

"That's the one," Sam chirped, pleased that the Puck finally accepted his credibility. "Someone took it out of his locker."

"Dude, that blows," Puck declared, eyebrows furrowing at the thought. "I spent a lot of time on that. Wait," Puck paused a moment, considering things, then tilted his head. "You think _I_ did it?"

"We think someone in glee club did it," Sam replied, holding up his hands in an attempt to soothe the other teen. Probably would have been more effective if he wasn't like, _right there_. "Mike said he kept the notebook mostly to himself-"

"Why didn't Mike say anything about it?" Puck murmured, turning to gaze out the windshield, hand braced against the dash fidgeting restlessly.

"Maybe he was embarrassed," Sam offered, unsure of the idea's merit.

Originally he had assumed that Mike didn't tell Puck because the dancer wasn't entirely sure the other teen _hadn't_ taken his notebook, but based on the jock's reaction Sam figured he shouldn't have worried. Puck obviously hadn't known about the fate of the notebook after he had drawn on it, and seemed more upset that someone had stolen something from his boyfriend than he was defensive.

"Do you think," Puck began quietly, turning his head to look back at Sam. "Do you think someone attacked him to get at me?"

Sam nodded slowly. "It came across our minds."

"Right," Puck mumbled, flopping back against his seat, finally giving Sam some breathing room. "Karofsky's working with you."

Despite his reputation for being stubbornly oblivious, Sam did not miss the look of hurt that flashed across Puck's features when he spoke, nor the guilty expression that followed. Out of anyone, Puck was aware of his effect on people, didn't doubt that he would ever be the target of someone's hate. It probably killed him though, the idea that someone would hurt Mike because of him.

Sam suddenly felt like the king of all jackasses for placing Puck as suspect number one. The guy was a rebel, but Sam should have known how much he cared too much about Mike to waste anymore time stupidly harassing him. As odd as it was to think, Puck was more mature than that.

He was definitely off the list then.

Sam hurriedly rushed to comfort his friend, trying not to make it obvious that he had seen Puck's moment of self-hate.

"But I just-" Sam burst, words coming out in an avalanche as he failed to properly arrange them. "I spoke to you first, because I saw you first, but that didn't mean- It's not like you're actually- Just, we wanted to cover all the bases right?" Sam asked, motioning to Puck to get _some_ kind of reaction out of him, an affirmation, _anything_. Eventually, the other teen nodded, and he continued. "Right, so I- well, I think it's Kurt, and not like, meant to hurt Mike, he just wanted to see the dance moves so you don't need to worry about it and I'm sorry." Sam paused, taking a breath of air as he finished his ramble, flopping back against his seat.

"I'm sorry," he echoed.

Puck cleared his throat after a moment, finally flopping back against his seat with his eyes glued on the windshield in front of them, and eventually shrugged. "Dude, you don't have to apologize to me," he began, voice slowly taking on that casual, laid back edge it always had. "You're doing my boyfriend a favor right? You were just trying to do a good job."

"Exactly," Sam agreed, maybe a little too enthusiastically, and after a suspicious glance from Puck he got back with the program and turned to stare out the windshield as well, keeping his eyes focused on the half-filled parking lot.

"So," Puck said after the awkwardness began to fade. "If you need any help, or you catch the guy that did it…"

"I'll call you," Sam finished with a definite nod.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Puck copying the movement, and finally, for the first time since the car ride had started, Sam allowed himself to relax.

"You bet your ass you will," Puck murmured, dangerous edge in his voice. "No one messes with my boyfriend without fear of my wrath, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Sam replied, mimicking the voice of an old-timey radio announcer. The other teen rolled his eyes at the blond's antics, considering for a moment before lurching back over into Sam's space so he could properly flick the other teen on the side of the head.

"No," Puck said, attempting to chastise the snickering blond. "That's only cute to other people."

Sam smiled brightly as he unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching over and throwing open his door so they could finally start their shopping expedition. The others would get worried if they wasted too much time.

"So," Sam chirped, hopping out of the truck. "You think I'm cute then?"

With a sigh of one who was greatly put-upon, Puck slammed the driver's side door closed as he mirrored Sam's movements, getting out of the truck. "To _other_ people."

Sam shrugged innocently. "I hear what I heard," he declared, and before he could make some smartass remark somebody else did it for him.

Someone who was, unfortunately, less interested in making witty remarks and more interested in spreading his irrationalized hate.

"And the rest of us can hear it too dumbasses, so try and keep your fairy shit to yourselves."

They both turned to look at the new voice at the same time, Puck automatically glaring and getting on the offensive while Sam blinked in surprise, taking in their verbal attacker.

_Shit_, it was Azimio.

Pretty much the last guy Sam wanted to see.

"What are you doing here Azimio?" Puck drawled, leaning against the side of his truck with an air of pure arrogance. "Did you mistake your rep count for your address again?"

"Screw you Puckerman," Azimo replied, eyeing the mohawked teen in pure contempt. The other jock was just across the narrow parking lot isle, facing the truck bed. "You can try to throw off your new homo-scent but you're not fooling anybody. I saw you mackin' on fish face. It was only a matter of time, wasn't it?"

"What the hell-?" Sam began, trailing off as he tried to figure out what Azimio's problem was, and Puck continued the conversation, throwing back some scathing remark as Sam reviewed the past few minutes.

"_Mackin"?_ What did Azimio mean by _"mackin'"?_ Was that-? Oh, that was slang for…

Wait, that dude thought he had been making out with Puck. But why?

"Dude, you are seriously retarded," Puck drawled, making his way towards the far end of his truck, closer to Azimio. "All those protein shakes must have finally gone to your head."

"Say what you want, but I saw what I saw," Azimio spat, fixing the other two teens with a look of triumph. "I always knew there was something wrong with you guys-"

"Because you've got a mental defect," Puck spat, leering at the other jock, but Azimio didn't seem to notice.

"I'm not surprised by you," Azimio continued, jerking a nod in Sam's direction. "But you Puck? Man, that homo Glee club is more poisonous than I thought."

"Shut it, Azimio!" Puck yelled, only refraining from lunging at the other teen because of Sam's hand on his arm.

"We weren't making out," Sam explained, unsure of why he was even bothering to reason with someone who had so obviously made up his mind. But he tried anyway, for Dave. "We were just-"

"Giving into your faggy desires," Azimio declared, venom, pure hatred written on his features, like he despised them for the very idea of it, that they would-

And Sam was just…overcome with an indescribable amount of fury that Dave's friend would feel like this, that he could possibly turn _this_ hate on Dave purely on the basis for who the other teen had an uncontrollable attraction to, and that filled him with a rage he could never hope to express.

Fortunately, Puck had already decided to attempt and describe his own feelings on the subject while Sam processed this, and lunged across the concrete, grabbing onto Azimio's shirt.

"Now you listen here you stupid prick-"

"Puck," Sam managed in between grunts of exertion, trying to pull the mohawked teen off of Azimio before he could do something stupid like get sent back to Juvie. "He's not worth it."

"Yeah," Azimio sneered, smoothing down the wrinkled parts of his shirt where Puck had grabbed him. "Listen to your fuckbuddy Puckerman-"

"Go to hell, Azimio," Sam spat, literally trembling in an effort to restrain both him _and_ his friend. "Just leave us alone."

"Whatever," Azimio said, turning to walk away from the other two. "Freaks."

"I'll show you a _freak_-" Puck began, making to run after the other teen, but Sam pulled him back again, turning to stare back at the truck's rear window, wondering exactly what Azimio saw.

"How-?"

"He must have been there since we parked," Puck murmured, relaxing against Sam's hold with a petulant slump.

"He was spying-?" Sam asked, looking at Puck in disbelief.

Why? Why of all the things-? Did he even know it was Puck's truck, was he following them, or had it all just been some coincidence that ended with homophobes deciding the world was what they wanted to see, and not at all what was actually there?

It probably didn't help that Azimio didn't like Sam much for taking up so much of his "best friend's" time.

Whatever.

Back in the real world Puck was still talking, frown set on his face from the remnants of his anger. "He saw me leaning over and decided we were making out," Puck groused, finally pulling his shoulder away from Sam's hand and continuing to stare at the other teen's retreating back. "Damn idiot."

Idiot was an understatement. Wouldn't making out involve moving? Or like, _looking_ like you had made out?

Or, here's a quick idea, the actual possibility that Sam would _want_ to get physical with Puck?

Seriously, he liked Mike and all, but Sam had better taste than that. Way better.

There was a moment of silence where Puck tried to calm down, and Sam stared down at his feet, wondering. "Do you think…?"

"Yeah," Puck answered the incomplete question with a tired sigh, rolling his head back to so he could stare up at the stars wearily. "He's probably calling his buddies right now."

"Awesome," Sam murmured, in that it wasn't awesome _at all_. Tomorrow would not be a fun day at school.

_Just…awesome_.

It probably wasn't a point in his non-dependability favor that Sam's initial response to this new development was to call Dave. The fact that he still didn't give a damn about it was probably _also_ a bad sign, though as it turned out, Sam's fear of monopolizing Dave's free time was almost immediately put to rest the moment he dialed the other teen's number. Dave never picked up.

All Sam got was a busy signal.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Endnotes:

Dun dun DUUUUUUN!

I know it was cheap, and the chapter was just going to end with Puck moping, but then a plot bunny struck me and I just couldn't say no guys. I _couldn't_. It was too tempting.

I apologize for the delay, the majority of December was spent focusing on finals and writing story-presents for my beta-readers, so _that_ and the usual holiday rush took up most of my time. Good news is I do have a lot of the plot worked out for future chapters, so there is some certainty aboard this ship, which is the best kind of ship to be upon ; )

Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, Frosted Heaven and Abby. Though I do believe double thanks are in order to Abby for going on a review run and hitting up some of my older stories. Thank you Abbs, and please, _please_ get a profile. I want to pm you and properly express my squee. I will get on my knees Abbs, don't you dare doubt me :P

The rhyming was completely unintentional. I swears.

On a story-related note, there's something wildly appropriate about Rachel being a master snooper. It just fits, doesn't it? And Puck has some pent up issues Sam hadn't been expecting. It happens sometimes.

Until next time :D


	7. Hate On Me, Hater

Chapter 7

Hate On Me, Hater

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

The average Wednesday morning was just as average and boring as was expected. Just a mob of bleary-eyed students trudging along to their first classes of the day, counting down the weeks until finals, prom, and graduation. The last of which always brought up conflicting emotions within Dave because he felt like each moment he drew closer to freedom was something to be celebrated; soon he would be out of here and he wouldn't have to abide by this stupid high school caste system and hiding in fear would be but a thing of the past. But then there was also the staggering fact that Sam was just a junior to his senior, and whenever Dave managed to escape this place he couldn't bring the blond with him, not that- he was getting ahead of himself, thinking of life beyond high school with college and then jobs and it probably wasn't healthy _at all_ that he envisioned doing all of this with Sam but his heart was kind've a bastard and seemed happy enough to ignore all the warning signs and picture it anyway, because Dave was just a hopeless romantic like that.

_God_, he was pathetic. What happened to him? He used to think he was beyond this stuff, but just look at him now…

He wanted to regret it but, like many of the things he had done in the past couple of months, found that he just couldn't.

Which was why plan Stealth-Woo-Sam _had_ to work. Dave's only options if it failed was a few years of pitiful heartbreak where he bemoaned the horrors of love in a depression that rivaled Mike's and _no one_ should rival Mike, that had been a feat. A level of despair that people shouldn't even dream to aspire to. It was too powerful.

…Dave was getting horribly off topic. If there had been a topic.

Mornings had a way of sending his mind on aimless mental tirades. He should eat a better breakfast, maybe that would help.

Further thoughts of early meals came to an abrupt end whenever Sam (who Dave may or may not have been waiting for as he casually leaned against the wall) finally strode into view, meeting Dave's eyes with a smile and a short wave before he purposefully strode on, moving past the other teen as he continued making his way down the hall.

Not an unexpected occurrence, it was sort of their early morning tradition. Or, if he was being honest, Dave went out of his way to _make_ it a morning tradition because otherwise he wouldn't get to see the blond for a couple of hours and going that long without even a hello from Sam seemed incredibly ridiculous when Dave knew he was capable of making time for the other teen. So he did. He would stand in this exact place like he was waiting for someone else and then Sam would walk by and wave and Dave would give a slow nod as though he were still half asleep and then Sam's smile would grow and Dave would get that stupid warm feeling he always got whenever Sam found something particularly entertaining.

Yes, he got it; he was not helping himself with the whole "pathetic" business.

As it turned out he did not give a damn. Not one em'.

And the fact that he gave no damns seemed to work wonders in his favor, because otherwise Dave wouldn't have been there that morning to see a Sam Evans, who couldn't have been in the building for more than five minutes, literally _covered_ in slushie ice, walking at a frantic pace and plastering on a wide grin as he quickly waved to Dave, either embarrassed by his state or _really_ hoping Dave wouldn't notice. Or both.

On second thought, it was probably both.

Dave reached out and snagged the other teen's shoulder before he could get out of reach, abandoning his pretend post by the wall and falling into step beside him easily, giving Sam a quick look over as he began to lead him to the bathroom by the auditorium. It would be safest.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dave asked, forcing himself to ignore the sudden rage that flared up as he felt the blond's shoulder quaking, the other teen's clothes soaked with artificial dye and sugar, clinging to his frame. Something Dave would have been more appreciative of if someone had not _messed with his friend_. No one did that. Not here. Not if they expected to get away with it.

Maybe it was the hockey guys. They always acted too big for their britches, cocky and arrogant as though their mullets gave them divine right to own the school. It couldn't have been any of the football players, they were all still reeling from the latest stunt Clark had pulled and planning an appropriate revenge, so there was no reason for them to seek out Sam. And it wasn't like Dave had blown off Azimio lately, so it couldn't be something as stupid as jealousy acting up.

As they rounded the corner Dave could see their destination in sight, like a shining beacon of hope in the distance, and the jock quickened his pace, trying to look as intimidating as possible in case any smart asses that felt like making comments.

He wished he had imaged the slight trepidation in Sam's tone whenever he replied, the blond tensing up at Dave's question, like he hadn't expected it.

"You don't know?" Sam asked, eyes widening, genuinely surprised.

Dave pulled him into the bathroom before he answered the question, doing a quick inspection of the room to make sure it was empty before turning back to Sam, confused.

"How would I know?" Dave furrowed his eyebrows in thought, wondering what he could have missed that had led to…_this_ being expectable. It wasn't, not by a long shot, but Sam was acting as though he should know what was going on and was wet and cold and just the _tiniest_ bit fearful and that brought out so many overprotective instincts in Dave he had to sit back and _make_ himself focus. He wanted to make this better; he wouldn't do either one of them any favors if he ran into the hallways and started hunting down the dumbass that had the gall to slushie Sam.

He really wanted to, but he wouldn't.

At least, not yet.

Sam eyed him, looking almost…nervous, hands constantly moving as he brushed the red ice off himself, avoiding Dave's eyes in favor of staring down at the sink. "You didn't get a call…?"

"The only call I got yesterday was from Brittany," Dave replied honestly, reminiscing on his ill-spent night. "And for the life of me, I have no idea what it was about."

Actually Dave had known _exactly_ what the cheerleader had been happily prattling on about the night before. It had been a constant stream of half thought-out ideas on what Dave should do to properly win Sam over. His favorite had been the scenario where he rode into school on a white horse, pulled Sam into the saddle behind him where the blond would be frozen still, awestruck by Dave's majestic horse-taming skills and ride off into the sunset while the glee club serenaded them and tossed handfuls of rose petals in their wake.

As grand as an idea as it had been Dave had managed to strike down the plan based on the fact that A) roses were expensive and should not be wasted on romantic mooding that said romantics involved would never see, B) no one they knew owned a horse, C) horses were _also_ expensive, and D) riding off into the sunset would requiring being at McKinley _at_ sunset, which was a horrible waste of an evening.

It took Brittany awhile to agree to that last one, and the fact that Dave had managed it at all left him to believe there was still hope for this world.

But, as those things were not something Sam particularly needed to be let in on, Dave elected _not_ to share them, which still begged the question _why_ had Sam been attacked with slushies?

Dave was pulled from his thoughts by Sam quietly mumbling, "Oh, so that's who…"

He trailed off with a start, probably not intending to say those words aloud and shook his head, sending pieces of ice flying in a watered down cascade.

"Anyway," Sam continued, clearing his throat. "I was just uh…in the wrong place at the wrong time. With Puck. And a brain-damaged audience."

Dave breezed over the answer to the mystery of who-was-trying-to-call-him-last-night (Brittany had been so adamant he couldn't find a way to cut her off and answer the call) and focused on the more pressing issue of what Sam was talking about. The taller teen moved off to the side, grabbing a handful of paper towels from the dispensers to help Sam clean up, keeping it to business as usual while the blond turned the water on and attempted to do what he could, keeping his eyes fixed on the pink-stained water trails slipping into the sink as he washed out his hair.

"So," Dave asked, keeping his voice casual as Sam accepted the towels. "What were you doing with Puck?"

And really, a sudden burst of jealousy would be completely and totally unreasonable so _obviously_ the uneasy feeling in Dave's gut wasn't that. That would be preposterous. And if Dave was anything, it wasn't preposterous.

It wasn't like he had any claim to Sam anyway; the blond was allowed to spend his free time with other people. And it was _Puck_. Who was spoken for, _twice_, by two freakishly possessive Asians. There was nothing to worry about there, not that Sam would be doing anything worth worrying about anyway, so by that logic Dave was obviously feeling concern.

Lots and lots of concern.

It didn't help his…_concern_ whenever Sam began to fidget at his question, squirming under his gaze like a kid that had done something they knew they shouldn't have. Dave had to keep himself from reaching out and shaking the teen just so he could get on with it.

Sam fidgeted some more, making use of his restless hands to splash some water against his face, clearing the ice away. "I might have…and this isn't entirely my fault. Well, it _kind've_ is, but how was I supposed to know Puck would be all- like, offended and sad and stuff? I wasn't, that's how, so…" he cut off his babbling, realizing that amongst his river of words he hadn't said anything that coherently explained the situation to Dave, and sighed, looking over at the other jock. "I just…wanted to surprise you, is all. Be a badass like you."

And then he got this dejected, kicked-puppy kind of expression on his face as he sighed again, utterly morose, and cut off further explanation by shoving his head under the water. Which was as good an opportunity as any for Dave to think a moment.

First of all, yeah, he was screwed. He knew he had always been screwed but- _damn Evans_, why did he have to go and say stupidly heartwarming things like that? _Why_? And why didn't he care?

And then there was the added bonus that he thought Dave was a badass (he knew Sam appreciated the heat he took off of the glee club but he hadn't known the other teen still took it to heart-) which was a pretty high compliment in the world of Sam and Dave couldn't smile, he couldn't, he had to keep his serious game face on and keep his eyes on the prize.

What had Sam and Puck been doing that earned the blond a slushie-covered fate?

"Sam-"

"I was trying to interrogate him," Sam exclaimed, gesturing frantically with his non-paper toweled hand, mood taking an immediate one-eighty as he got defensive. "See if I could investigate some on my own and then bring it back to you but I must have hit a sore spot or something, because instead of being a _helpful_ interogee Puck got pissed and then he got all loom-y and threatening, like he does, and _way_ into my personal space and then the gig was up and I had to tell him, and then he was cool but still loom-y, and oh-" he looked up from his babble, wagging a finger in Dave's direction like he was pointing out something important. "He didn't do it by the way, didn't even know the notebook had gone missing."

_But he knew about it_, Dave thought, fighting off the frown that tugged at his lips at the comment. He would have to talk to Mike later, see what that was about.

In the meantime, Sam continued his helpful chatter. "So we were there, in his car-"

"Why were you in his car?" Dave interrupted, because sure Dave, _that_ was the important part.

Despite the sarcasm his subconscious still found this a _very_ pressing matter that he needed to be enlightened on _now_, thanks, so he supposed that attempted reality check was a moot point anyway.

"We were getting more Coke," Sam explained, in that he explained nothing, making a vague gesture as his eyes trailed off to the side, trying to figure out where he left off. "Okay, so we were in his car, in the parking lot, and he yelled and threatened and then he was cool, and _we_ were cool, and then we got out of the car and…" he dropped off uncertainly, buying himself a few moments as he swiped at his face with the paper towels, wiping away the dampness.

But Dave had a good feeling where he was going anyway.

Because if _he_ was feeling _concerned_ by some looming…

Someone else, someone who didn't know the complete story would probably assume something different was transpiring, and their range of feelings probably wouldn't happen to include concern.

Dave steadfastly ignored the wave of nausea that roiled in his gut, that stubborn anxiety clenching at his heart in a sudden and unwelcomed return. It was worse this time though, because this time it was for Sam.

"Who saw you?" Dave found himself asking, keeping his face neutral of the emotional storm building in him.

The other teen had his head bowed, patting down his hair with the mostly damp towels, face obscured but voice trying for nonchalant. "It wasn't like-"

"I know," Dave interrupted, _"It wasn't like that"_, recognizing the argument, the plea that had probably been ignored when the first few barrages of slushie went Sam's way. "But who saw you?"

Dave wasn't even sure why he was asking though; he already had a fair idea of who it was.

Someone who would call him, someone Sam was surprised _hadn't_ called him.

Someone who Dave _really_ didn't want it to be.

Therefore making them the most likely choice.

"Azimio," Sam admitted, almost- no, _entirely_ apologetic, like it was his fault Dave's stupid best friend was going out of his way to hate on the blond. "We tried to tell him we were just arguing and like, _why_ would I want to make out with Puck? Seriously, I can do better, but he wouldn't…" Sam trailed off with a half-hearted shrug, looking timidly in Dave's direction. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tried anything on my own."

"It's not your fault," Dave responded automatically, hating that his assurance was only met with a disbelieving snort as the other teen turned away, chucking the used paper towels into the trash can. "It's _not_."

"Yeah dude, it kind've is," Sam replied, finally regaining some of his usual confidence as he folded his arms across his newly-stained shirt. "I was the one that set Puck off, I was the one that didn't push him away, and I'm the one…" he trailed off, but Dave knew where he had been going.

_I'm the one Azimio hates_.

"It's _not_ your fault," Dave echoed, because repetition was the key to learning and Dave _needed_ Sam to know this. "You can't control someone else's stupidity. He was just-"

"Seeing what he wanted to see," Sam finished with a quiet exhale, like he had been repeating that to himself ever since it happened. And that- _damn him_, damn Azimio, he couldn't just-

"So I was thinking." Sam inspected himself in the mirror, frowning as he tugged at the bottom of his soaked shirt. "We should probably…you know, not hang out for a bit."

"_No way_." Dave wasn't dealing with that shit. He was _not_. "I hang out with whoever I want to, that includes you-"

"Well that was before Azimio started spreading rumors that Puck and I are bumping uglies," Sam interrupted, determination setting in as he turned to stare the other teen down. "Who do you think did this to me in the first place?" he said, motioning to himself, and it was so much worse now that it was confirmed, Dave resolutely ignoring the urge to flinch. "I'm not making anymore problems because I made a dumb choice. Just, give it a couple weeks and people will get bored-"

"I'm _not_ doing that," Dave growled, pissed at the state of the world. That Sam was still blaming himself for this, that Azimio was being a moron, that a stupid rumor was trying to get between him and his Sam-time.

"First of all," he continued, grabbing onto Sam's shoulders and staring him dead in the eye so he couldn't look away. "It is not your fault. None of that was foreseeable. The only dumb thing you could do is _assume_ it is your fault because life is too unpredictable to try to apply reason to it, especially to that situation. Second of all," he said making sure that Sam was keeping up with him. He was, but the blond still looked like he wanted to object. "What you did was _not_ dumb. You were trying to help out a friend, that is never dumb. And you didn't think too much about your positioning in a conversation that was by rights, private, so _why_ would you think of it? _Why_ would someone spy on you? And why would _their_ opinions, and their actions as a result of their opinions, _ever be your fault?_"

He pulled back after that, taking in the (cutely) surprised look on Sam's face, taking in a slow steady breath to help regain his composure. He didn't…ranting at Sam wasn't something he really did. Or for that matter something he ever particularly _wanted_ to do, despite some of the blond's more exasperating and hair-brained schemes. But Dave also couldn't let Sam walk around for one more _second_ thinking any of this crap was his fault, because it clearly wasn't.

He only had the best intentions, and if Azimio hadn't been there at that exact moment, it would have been _fine_.

So none of it was Sam's fault.

Then again, Dave was hopelessly biased, but he was pretty sure that worked out right anyway.

"It's…not." Sam concluded, smiling brightly on the completion to Dave's speech which- he couldn't describe the amount of relief that hit him because he didn't normally have these kinds of conversations with Sam. These touchy-feely things.

_Guys don't do that_, Dave's mind unhelpfully suggested, but the teen brushed it off quickly with a sigh, choosing instead to focus on his more immediate concern, Sam.

"Exactly," Dave replied, turning away from that brilliant smile. Now that Sam had been absolved of his "crimes" the blond was back to his enthusiastic self, all barely-contained energy and - _the best_ . Not a great description, but it was Sam. And Sam was best.

As the other teen got to work cleaning off the remainder of his slushie barrage Dave searched through his backpack, finally coming upon the spare shirt he had brought to school for…well, no reason at all. It wasn't like_ he_ had any reason to worry about getting slushied.

Ever.

"Here," Dave offered, thrusting the shirt in the blond's direction. Sam, who had been staring forlornly at his own ruined t-shirt, relieved him of the yellow polo with a look of delight, gingerly putting it to the side where it was safely out of staining-distance before grabbing at the bottom of his own shirt and slowly peeling it off.

Very. Very. _Slowly_.

Seriously, sometimes Dave thinks that fate just likes to screw with him, because watching the tan skin of Sam's defined abs being revealed _ever-so_ gradually was probably both the best and most mentally challenging three seconds of Dave's life. On one hand, there was the obvious temptation of ogling like it was his goddamn job while the source of his ogling was blissfully unaware, on the other hand, _respect_ and _boundaries_ and the very pressing need to _not_ freak out his friend by blatantly checking him out so they could keep that 'relationship' thing _progressing_ as opposed to being abandoned in the corner when Sam remembered what a ridiculously attractive specimen he was.

Dave would like to think he was successful on the not-stare front but there must have been something in his expression anyway because Sam honest to God _smirked_ after his little strip tease, cocking an eyebrow in Dave's direction that the other jock studiously ignored, putting on the pretense he was cleaning up any of the red droplets that had failed to make it to the sink.

"Yep," Sam murmured, sounding amazingly smug. "I'm awesome."

There was something about the honest playfulness of it all that should have shaken Dave more than it did, that Sam felt comfortable enough to deal with _this_ side of him, and as much as Dave fought against it there was still a stupid amount of hope flaring in his chest, obsessing and over-calculating that this meant more than it did.

It didn't, they were just friends-

_Or, _his mind so helpfully provided,_ Operation Stealth-Woo was going a lot better than you think it is._

Dave just- he really hated hope. Because it was so hard to fight off.

"No one likes an ego," Dave snarked back, just as casually as he normally would have. When he looked up in the mirror he was met by a wide smile, an expression of cheer that he steadfastly kept focused on to ignore how appealing Sam looked wearing _his_ oversized shirt, a little too wide in the shoulders and the collar hanging open, but still bearing the same countenance as if they were his own, that this was natural. That this was nice.

"Yeah well, I've been told I have a charming personality."

"Lies," Dave replied, and Sam's smile grew, like it was nothing.

Like the shirt that didn't fit him quite right and the wet hair and the stupid hope he ignited within Dave was just _nothing_.

And it was.

But it also, you know, _wasn't_.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

Cornering Brittany probably should have been harder, Rachel thought, or perhaps Santana's reputation towards fierce overprotection of her girlfriend was enough of a deterrent that Brittany could happily make her way through the school on her lonesome, without fear of being cornered by those whose intentions were less-than-honorable. It was surprising though, that Rachel had actually managed to find the cheerleader without her menacing shadow trailing on her heels, doing…whatever it was Santana and Brittany did when they were together. Shoplifting maybe. Oh, or working on a new dance routine for Regionals! That would be nice.

_Focus_, Rachel thought, chiding herself for wasting time getting lost in useless speculation. She had a goal here and her window of opportunity probably wouldn't be that long. Eventually Brittany would be remember she had an appointment with Santana or Blaine or Mike or Quinn and get whisked away from her mindless wanderings or, more likely, one of her appointees would hunt her down and Rachel needed to fit in a thorough interro-

…a thorough _chat_ with Brittany that would probably require a good deal of time. She needed to get started.

With a few brisk strides she fell in step beside Brittany just as the blonde passed her particular position (hideout) in the hallway. The cheerleader didn't seem to notice her at first, too busy making doodles in a notebook she held close to her chest, humming a cheerful tune with no discernable melody as she did so.

"Hey Brittany," Rachel chirped, keeping her tone friendly and chipper.

It was the same voice she had used when she had approached the blonde teen to recruit her in the fashion expenditure of yester year, which probably explained why Brittany's response was, "I can't help you with your clothes Rachel, I'm not magical enough."

She stopped dead in the hallway, forcing Rachel to jar to a halt as her target tilted her head to the side, staring off into the distance as though thoroughly lost in thought.

"I don't think anyone is," Brittany said eventually. "Not even Kurt."

"I'm not here to ask you about clothes," Rachel replied, tense, forcing herself to keep a pleasant, relaxed expression.

"Oh, so you want to borrow some of my sweet moves?" Brittany asked, continuing before Rachel had a chance to assure she did not. "Because I like you Rachel, I really do. You're loud and sometimes that scary-mean that Santana is and you give people the right people headaches, well," she paused, shrugging. "Sometimes that means you also give _us_ headaches but you work really hard to be good at things so I think that deserves recognition right? It _does_. But I'm saving my moves for a special occasion, so you're just going to have to get your own."

"I don't want to talk about dance moves Brittany," Rachel said quickly, perhaps a little too tersely as her frustration finally began to ebb into her tone. She shook her head, deciding to continue before Brittany could take them down a wild path to nowhere. "I would _like_ to ask you about Dave."

"You mean Big Bear?" Brittany asked, clapping her hands together, notebook and sparkling pen and all, with a bright smile.

Under her expectant stare Rachel simply nodded, hoping that they were actually talking about the same David and not some imaginary one that pulled capers with Lord Tubbington or something.

"Yes," Rachel said, motioning for her and Brittany to continue walking. Hopefully to somewhere private. "I wanted to talk to you about him and Sam."

When Rachel was met by another round of enthusiastic clapping she assumed her guess was correct, and the forced grin from earlier was relaxed into something more genuine. Things were going quite smoothly.

"So you want to help too?" Brittany looked pleased by the idea of recruiting another person to "help" in her endeavor. "_Awesome_, because Dave needs a lot of help. He won't ever use any of my brilliant ideas even though I so _generously_ give them to him. And then, because I'm amazing and like, a super love-guru, I even listen to his complaints and think of new ideas for him, but he won't use them _either._"

She finished this with a sigh, tugging on the end of her pony with a pout just as Rachel began to lead them into the backstage area of the auditorium, away from prying ears.

Though she might have been a little too delayed in doing so because-

"_Love guru?"_ Rachel echoed, face schooled to that of respectful interest were it not for the rapid blinking that gave away her attempts at processing what Brittany said. "You mean-"

"Yep." The blonde gave her a conspiratorial wink as they waltzed towards the costume closet. "I found out from Santana that Dave wants to be really good friends with Sam. Like," she leaned forward, eyes darting side to side to search for any eavesdroppers before she whispered, "_Really _good friends."

"Like-" Rachel began, eyes widening at what exactly Brittany was inferring.

"Yep," Brittany repeated with a definite nod. "Like, _touching butts_."

The fact that Rachel managed to quell the small bark of laughter that threatened to escape on that declaration was a testament to her acting prowess, but she couldn't bear that any mind because if Brittany had gotten her information from _Santana_, a reliable source, that further dimensioned the probability that this was simply a misunderstanding on Brittany's part.

It would also explain why Kurt didn't feel particularly keen to let Rachel in on it.

Because if Santana knew, Kurt knew, he _had_ to know, which explained David's fixation on him last year and the sudden peace treaty instigated by Santana. It explained why Dave sought out friendship with Mike, enough to help him with his love life (so informed Rachel by her dutiful boyfriend Finn or else _she wouldn't know anything-_). It explained why Blaine and Kurt and Santana were all suddenly fine with him, accepted him.

And it certainly explained his near-permanent presence at Sam's side. Because he wanted to be _"really good friends"_.

That was certainly one way of putting it.

It was…conflicting, the new swell of emotions that hit Rachel as soon as she realized Brittany's words were true. Her mind thought back to when Finn and the others had originally joined the glee club, when Quinn had Santana and Brittany follow after her, that even though it was where they wanted to be and they were outrageously popular they were _still_ bogged down. Even them. Even being the most popular kids in school hadn't kept them from being targeted with slushies and dumpster-dives, and Dave-

Must have been _terrified_. Once he figured it out. Must have hated himself, and then taken that hate and used it all on Kurt, hoping it would go away.

But it didn't. It didn't and that probably scared him more.

And Rachel could see it, could see Santana or Kurt figuring it out and then Mike figuring it out and the silent support and this double life, this result of wanting to be "friends" with Sam and _not_-wanting to be hazed by the rest of the school-

It had to be awful.

"So," Brittany asked, bobbing up and down on her heels with a grin, bring Rachel back to the present. "Are you going to help?"

And honestly…there was only one answer Rachel could choose.

"Yes," she replied, smile matching Brittany's joy easily, earning a celebratory hoot from the other teen.

Yes, she would help Dave. That teenager she met, the one that she talked too, the one that had been watching Sam investigate a locker with a look of fondness he couldn't hide, _that_ was someone she wanted to help.

So she would. Anyway she could.

"Good!" Brittany cheered, pumping a fist into the air. "We'll help them become best friends or my name isn't Rainbow Sparkledust!"

And with that declaration Brittany charged out of the costume closet, as though she were advancing on some invisible army, leaving Rachel staring in her wake, shaking her head at the blonde's enthusiasm.

"But it's _not_," she muttered.

Then again, details. It wasn't like Dave really wanted to be best friends with Sam anyway.

…at least, not _just_ best friends.

Okay, time to strategize.

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

-:-:-:-:-:-

"I still say we should have waited for Brittany," Blaine muttered, smoothing down the front of his sweater in a conscious effort to play off his anxiety. "It probably wouldn't have taken that long."

"She knew the deal," Finn replied in a voice that tried to be commanding and cool and ultimately failed at either due to his own nervous twitching. "We have a tight schedule. You never know how long Sam and Dave's study sessions go. Sometimes it's hours, sometimes they give up and come _here_."

He gave Blaine a pointed look. "Which means we have to be done searching _here_ and be long gone before that happens."

"Possibly happens," Blaine murmured, on principal.

That earned him a distracted nod from Finn, showing he agreed, but the other teen kept his eyes focused on the house in front of them. He inhaled slowly, taking in a deep breath before releasing it with a sudden rush of air, and then the next moment he was striding forward, gaze never wavering from the front door. Confidence, that was it, they just needed _confidence_-

Blaine really wished they had waited for Brittany. He knew realistically that having the blonde along for this particular mission was half as likely to ruin it as it was to see its success, but the teen couldn't deny that Brittany had this utter sincerity and charm about her that pushed away any nerves that came with trying to con your way into enemy territory. They could have let her do all the talking, only interjecting to correct her as the _kind_ friends they were in an _"Oh, don't mind her"_ sort of way, and they'd be in and out with no questions asked. Blaine wasn't entirely sure how Brittany managed it, but she did, and now he could only mourn her lack of presence.

By the way Finn restlessly drummed his fingers against the side of his pants Blaine could tell he did too, but the jock was far too dedicated to their mission to ever consider calling it off.

It was go time.

With more certainty than he could possibly posses Finn reached out and rang the doorbell, quick-like before he could change his mind. Blaine hovered half a step behind him, hands fidgeting with the strap of his shoulder bag as he tried to school his expression into that sense of casual charming he used to be able to pull off before he started partaking in all these secret glee spy missions. He vaguely wondered when this became normal for him and spent a moment to lament the loss of a time when all he cared about was acapella arrangements and hair gel. Those were good times. Simple times. Where had he gone wrong?

The door opened before Blaine could fall completely into despair, and he plastered a smile on his face, pulling back its intensity before it began looking manic.

A pleasant looking woman stood before them, the only indication of her age being the sprinkling of grey streaks in her chestnut, shoulder length hair. She gave off the distinct feeling of a housewife, mild-mannered with kind eyes, and it probably helped that she happened to be wearing a flowered apron over her clothes, dusted with flour and other stains one risked when attempting culinary ventures.

"Hello Mrs. Karofsky," Finn said, putting on an easy smile. "Is Dave home?"

Blaine wanted to wince at how horribly fifties it all sounded, like "I Love Lucy" and "Leave it to Beaver" had snuck into their brains and devoured their capacity for using current day lingo and replaced it with utter politeness.

Then again, there was a good chance Blaine was being overly critical because he _didn't want to be here_.

It was an option.

Mrs. Karofsky returned the gesture easily, previously-hidden laugh lines crinkling around her lips as they drew back in a smile. "No, uh…"

"Finn," the towering teen supplied eagerly.

"Finn," Mrs. Karofsky repeated with a delicate nod of the head. "I'm afraid Dave's tutoring someone right now."

Oh, what a horribly unforeseen coincidence.

What _ever_ shall they do?

As though they weren't perfectly away of these circumstances Finn and Blaine put on their best disappointed faces, careful to not overdo it (Blaine had made Finn practice in the car several times before his was satisfactory), and then Finn continued, almost hesitant. "Oh, well- you see Mrs. Karofsky, I'm a friend of Sam's, you know-"

"The blond one," the Mrs. supplied, eyes focusing on a spot over Finn's shoulder as her mind wandered to fill in the blanks.

"Yeah," Finn said eagerly. "Him. Anyway, Sam lost one of his notebooks and we've been like, searching _everywhere_ for it, and the only place we haven't checked yet was here, since he comes over so often."

Mrs. Karofsky followed along with the explanation easily, nodding in all the right places to show she understood.

"Yeah and," Finn continued, reaching up to scratch the back of his head in a show of bashfulness. "Normally we would just, ask Dave but _we_-" Finn motioned between himself and Blaine. "Are working on a project with Sam, and his notebook _kind've_ has some important stuff in it, for the project-"

"And we _might_ have waited until the last minute," Blaine added, with a hopeless boys-will-be-boys shrug, as a universal indicator that this behavior was to be expected.

"Right," Finn said, nodding. "So uh…could we…?"

"You boys could check inside Dave's room if you would like. See if you could find your friend's notebook."

"Really?!" Finn's enthusiasm was a hundred percent genuine, probably surprised that their stupid plan had worked. "Thanks Mrs. Karofsky. It'll only take like, five minutes, tops."

"It might be longer than that," the woman joked, eyes openly amused at Finn's happiness. "Take your time boys; just promise me you'll try to manage your time better in the future."

"Done," Finn chirped, going so far as to snatch up Mrs. Karofksy's flour-covered hand from her side and give it a few enthusiastic pumps. "Thanks Mrs. Karofsky, you are totally saving our grades."

"Thank you," Blaine added quietly as Dave's mother motioned them inside, still smiling at Finn's antics. "We really do appreciate it."

"No skin off my nose," she replied breezily, already heading back towards the kitchen. "It's up the stairs, second door on the right."

"Got it!" Finn called, and if the woman replied Blaine didn't hear it because he was suddenly being hauled up the staircase, Finn's iron grip dragging him along in the taller teen's wake.

Step one: lying to Dave's parental unit, complete.

Step two: Investigate for clues.

"I feel like we may be crossing a line here," Blaine muttered as he was pulled into the indicated room, Finn closing the door behind them with hurried care before prowling about the space, giving it a quick once-over to see where they should get started.

"Yeah dude, not the first time you've said that." Finn's reply was distracted, he had zeroed in on a medium-sized bookcase right by the door, hands skimming along the edges of old novels and PC game boxes as he began the task of finding any hints as to what the state of Sam and Dave's investigation was. They were supposedly attempting to try and get ahead of the detective duo so they could try to do damage control, but Blaine suspected Finn had simply gotten tired of their lack of progress and the only way to possibly rectify that situation was to do something that would probably be as productive as most of the other stuff they had tried, as in, _it wouldn't_, but at least they were actually doing something, and that made Finn happy.

To be honest, the only reason Blaine had tagged along was to make sure Finn didn't do anything stupid while treading in what was unquestionably delicate territory. Karofsky probably wouldn't take their snooping too kindly if he ever caught wind of it, but their excuse had been a pretty solid one (the result of many hours which they made sure Brittany didn't assist in) so if he did, he wouldn't find anything suspicious.

Besides, what other reason would Finn and Blaine have for being in his room?

_Aside from pure stupidity._

Blaine sighed and wandered over towards Karofsky's desk, puttering around with the few papers scattered atop of it and giving them a cursory look to check for notes on the investigation.

Surprisingly enough, there weren't any.

What a shocker.

Blaine turned to give Finn a tired glare. "So I suppose restating any of my old arguments at this point wouldn't make you change your mind?"

He knew they had already come this far but for basic human dignity's sake; it wasn't like they couldn't just turn around right now. Leave this business behind them. At least _pretend_ they were decent people.

"Nope." Finn shook his head, deliberately ignoring Blaine's exasperated sigh as he flipped through a spiral notebook, the word _"Math"_ scrawled across the front in hasty chicken scratch. "Check the drawers," he added, nodding over to the desk without pulling his eyes away from Dave's math notes, visibly put-off by the fact they dared not to be what they were looking for.

"Sure," Blaine mumbled with false enthusiasm. "Because _that's_ not a blatant violation of privacy."

"Less complaining, more searching," came the flippant reply. The math notebook was replaced with an aggravated shove before Finn continued his inspection.

"You know he could be just like us." Blaine started a half-hearted search through Dave's desk, inspecting the drawers filled with remarkably unsuspicious office supplies and knickknacks. "Keep his notes in his backpack. _With_ him."

"Maybe," Finn replied distractedly, temporarily consumed with a rubik's cube that had fallen behind a stack of novels. "But that doesn't mean we shouldn't at least look."

"Because you're doing such a great job of that now," Blaine muttered, taking a small hint of satisfaction as Finn gave an indignant sputter, quickly followed by the sound of his toy being tossed back onto the shelf.

"Focus Blaine," the other teen chided, crouching down to get a better look at the bookcase's bottom level. "Maybe if you put more energy into being helpful instead of a buzzkill we would be done by now."

"Sure," Blaine scoffed, pulling open another desk drawer. "Hey, when we're done finding nothing we and reevaluate just how _helpful_ I am."

Finn must have decided that any reply he would only result in further argument so he chose not to answer, instead giving up his bookcase and turning his attention to Dave's closet, probably looking for shoe boxes or folders that were secreted away in the clothing's depths.

With a roll of his eyes Blaine went back to examining his desk drawer, this one appearing to consist of a stack of abandoned papers, either sentimental or forgotten, and he pulled away the upper portion of the stack, intending to flip through them to satisfy his partner in crime. What he got was a couple of rough drafts of papers, a few pop quizzes (Dave took French, Kurt would love that), and what looked like some extra credit assignments, none of them of obvious importance. Blaine was about to move on when he noticed that a drawing was now on top of the pile. The paper it was on was slightly crinkled and the drawing itself a bit smudged, but Blaine couldn't help but laugh at the elaborate scene that was depicted, a bunch of stick figure pirates conquering a ship of ferocious looking cheerleaders, trying to fend off their attackers with a load of pom-poms and confetti cannons.

It was, dare Blaine think it, utterly adorable, and with a laugh he eagerly moved on, pulling out the next couple of pages to see they were more of the same illustrations of a wandering imagination, some featuring the football team making their way towards victory, others featuring damsels getting rescued from fire-breathing dragons, standard knights in shining armor replaced with tough and hardened commandos using rocket launchers. It was quite a sight to behold and it wasn't long before Blaine's snickering grabbed Finn's attention, drawing the other teen over to his side so he could see what all the fuss was about.

"I had no idea Dave was an artist," Blaine managed through his laughs, holding the picture up so Finn could see it. "He should try writing comics for the Muckraker, it would be way better than some of the stuff they're printing now."

He turned back to the drawer, ignoring Finn's thoughtful silence as he flipped through some more sketches, some of them having obviously been crumpled up in a fit of anger and carefully unfolded, closer to the bottom of the stack in order to help them flatten back out, Blaine presumed.

He had almost reached the bottom of the pile when Finn cleared his throat, meeting Blaine with a confused expression when the other teen looked his way. "Dude, I think these are Sam's drawings."

"Sam?" Blaine asked, feeling his eyebrows furrow. "But why would they be here?"

"I dunno man," Finn replied, shifting a little uneasily. "But he draws like, a ton of these things but only keeps about half of em'. Says that the other ones aren't good enough to waste space on or something."

"Pretty hard critiquing for stick figures," Blaine murmured, giving the papers another look. On closer inspection, all of them seemed to be folded or crumpled, at least a little bit, which made the possibility of them being discarded all the more likely.

"Yeah well, didn't say it made sense." Finn shrugged, frown beginning to tug at his lips. "Hey uh…isn't this a little creepy?"

"Creepy?"

"Yeah like," Finn shuffled uncomfortably. "It seems a little weird for Dave to collect these and keep them all in one place, like a collection or something. I can understand having a few of them lying around, that's sort of unavoidable when you hang out with Sam and paper at the same time, but like this…" he shrugged again, handing the papers back to Blaine unhappily. "Kind've creepy."

"Well I think it's cute," Blaine replied absently, giving the pages one last look of fondness before carefully replacing them. "And a little sweet."

The moment he finished the sentence he knew he had said the wrong thing, so consumed with Dave's obvious fondness that he forgot who he was talking to. So it wasn't the least bit surprising when Finn let out a chocked sound of disagreement, instantly beginning to shake his head.

"Dude, guys don't do cute. Or sweet. Not us anyway," he continued, watching as Blaine re-hid the drawings with the schoolwork he had taken out earlier. "I mean, maybe guys like you and Kurt…and like, Mike now too I guess, would, but the rest of us try to stay away from that sentimental stuff as much as…"

Blaine turned to look at him as Finn trailed off into silence, expression on his face going from confused to thoughtful, his eyebrows furrowed as he began to stew over what he had just said. It was no matter of overreaction that Blaine felt his stomach immediately drop as he realized where Finn was going, and then _Finn_ realized where he was going, and when the theatre-loving teen was met with an incredible look of disbelief from one Finn Hudson he discovered that his usual charming look of _I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about_ didn't feel like existing whenever he needed it _most_.

Figured.

"…guys like you- _oh my God!_"

He barely kept his voice low enough so it wouldn't be heard downstairs, but it was a near thing, and Finn clamped a hand across his mouth, eyes wide as he realized what at least half of glee club _had_ to know at this point.

"_You_," Finn hissed, pointing to Blaine frantically as though he were at fault for this sudden epiphany (and, to be fair, he was, but that didn't mean he _liked_ it). "Did you-? Do you-? Does _Kurt_-?"

"Yes," Blaine replied, running a hand across his face, feeling nothing short of absolutely terrible for accidentally outing Dave. _"Sweet"_, he had said. Couldn't just keep his opinions to himself. _Had_ to try and defend Dave's honor.

Well look at where that got him.

"That..that…that actually makes a whole lot of sense and I can't believe I didn't see it sooner but _really_?! Is this actually happening and you and Dave didn't band together to try and teach me some lesson-?"

"Nope," Blaine mumbled sadly, not meeting Finn's inquisitive eyes.

This was what shame felt like. Blaine had been shamed.

"_Holy crap_," Finn muttered, grabbing the side of his head as though it could stabilize him through the emotional storm. "Karofsky's _gay_?"

"Weeell…" Blaine drew out the vowel, hoping by the end of it he would discover a few other words to follow but unfortunately he came up nothing, so all that was left was uncomfortable silence and a questioning jock that wanted answers that Blaine didn't particularly want to give him.

Kurt was going to kill him. That was just the unfortunate truth of it. Kurt was going to kill him and then _Santana_ was going to kill him and if by some chance someone managed to bring him back to life he was going to lose his bro membership card for participating in the most absolute failure of bro-itude.

A rather disastrous turn of events, if he did say so himself.

"I can't believe it," Finn continued, disbelieve sketched into his features. "I mean it makes sense, but still, and-" his eyes widened suddenly and he looked at Blaine, another realization hitting him. "_Sam_."

Just one word, "Sam".

It was really all he needed to say.

"Does he know-?" Finn asked, reaching forward to grab at Blaine's shoulder, as though having some physical connection to the other teen would somehow make the answers he wanted to hear tumble forth.

"He knows," Blaine confirmed with a tired sigh.

Finn nodded, and darted his eyes over to the desk drawer. "And does he know about the…?"

"Nope," Blaine said. That was it; he was the worst gay guy ever. It was official.

He expected Finn's next words to be somewhere along the lines of _"Well we must tell him!"_ or _"We must protect him!"_ or _"Who __**else**__ knows?!"_ but instead of any of those options Finn's expression turned frustrated and he gave Blaine a serious look, one indicating that he would take no shit from here on out.

"Is the notebook thing legit?"

Blaine paused for a moment, blinking stupidly at the unexpected question. "…No?"

Finn's expression hardened. "Look Blaine, I mean it. Is this one of Kurt's match-making schemes or do we have an actual case here?"

"I think so," Blaine replied earnestly, because he _did_, but now that Finn has asked…

It _was_ beginning to sound a lot like something Kurt would cook up.

"Okay then," Finn nodded, grip relaxing as he took up a less serious tone. "We'll just have to ask him later. And like…_think_ about this later."

"Finn," Blaine started, grabbing the other teen's arm as he turned towards the door. "You can't tell anyone, not even Sam-"

"I know," Finn muttered, surprisingly enough. "I understand you wouldn't…you and Kurt and Santana wouldn't let anything bad happen, so I won't say anything. That doesn't mean I don't want answers though."

Yeah well, that would make two of them.

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Endnotes:

Alternate titles to this chapter include _"In Which Dave's friends are shit at keeping secrets"_ and _"Almost as bad as Paisley is at pacing". _I think both have a certain ring to them.

A bountiful number of thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Abby, dosqueen67, and Frosted Heaven. Sorry about the delay guys, but one of the chapters of another story I'm working on ate up way more of my life than I thought it would. But hey, I brought back Dave! Hadn't realized how long it had been since he had an appearance. I missed that guy.

(As for you Abbs, I see how it is. No happy-glee-gossip messaging for us then.)

And onto the chapter!

I couldn't actually find out how tall Dave is, so for the moment we're just going to go ahead with my assumption and say he's taller than Sam. And the business with the costume closet is a reference to this story's prequel, "Not a Problem, Just a Challenge". Apparently that's the greatest place to have secret conversations _ever_.

I'm pretty sure that's a scientific fact.

Until next time : )


	8. Somethin' to Prove

Chapter 8

Somethin' to Prove

Warnings: Some more foul language and derogatory words. Azimio you guys, he's kind've a jerk.

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Dave had taken to accompanying Sam to as many of his classes as he could manage. True, his previous method for keeping Sam out of harm's way had less to do with his presence and more to do with the methods of distraction he used against the football team, but most of the school's population was still easily intimidated, so whenever Dave was near, Sam went slushie-free.

As much as the jock hated it though, he wasn't always on hand, and there were some class changes where they were so far apart on campus that by the time Dave _could_ get to Sam there would have been ample opportunity for the blond to be slushied several times. He loathed it, so much so that Dave had tried to coordinate with Santana and Zizes to take over the "Sam Shifts" he couldn't make it to, but it only really worked when Zizes was around (as it seemed that slushieing Santana was something akin to roof-surfing on a moving vehicle, stupidly dangerous and yet still a pastime to any male worth his salt). Eventually Sam figured out Dave's plan and brought his complaints back to the taller jock, stating he was a big boy who could take his own punishments so _"Cut it with the overprotective stuff."_

Turned out, Zizes respected a guy for accepting his blows, a _"statement to his character"_ were her words, so Dave had to suck it up and accept the fact that he couldn't protect his friend/detective-partner/object-of-affection as much as he wanted to. And he _really_ wanted to. It was getting to the point where he was considering instigating another scandal of epic proportions just so that Puck and Sam could be off the bully radar because he _was not_ happy. Not with any of this. Not with the fact that he couldn't even bring up complaints the few times he had hung out with Azimio when he and the other football players started ragging on the blond. Any time Dave would try to stick up for his friends the subject was immediately changed with a few joking derogatory words, like it never happened, though Dave could tell by the uncomfortable shifting of the other jocks they _knew_ there was some residing tension between their two fearless leaders. Leaders of the "sane" football players that remained of course, the ones that _weren't_ in glee club, and Dave knew just as much as he hated that qualification of sanity that something was close to breaking. The guys knew it, Azimio knew it, and Dave knew it.

Eventually they were going to ask Dave to pick a side, and his choice was not going to please them.

He'd deserve it though, the grief he would get afterword. He had been living on borrowed time since last year and the moment he started hanging out with Mike his fate had been sealed. He couldn't turn his back now and, if he had _any_ respect left for himself, he wouldn't.

He wouldn't give up Sam.

But he _would_ give up Azimio, and that shook Dave. Shook him to his core.

He had known Azimio for almost as long as he could remember, since elementary school, at least. They had played Pee Wee football together, learned how to camp in Cub Scouts, spent the majority of their childhood with the other's family, getting to know their quirks, their favorite movies, the best way to make pizza. They discovered the wonder of girls together (Azimio did, Dave had just been frantically copying what all the other guys were doing, hoping he would eventually see whatever it was they saw) and had stepped into the foreign world of High School, _together_, always having the other guy's back whenever he needed it, no questions asked.

Dave had been there for Azimio when his Grandma had died. Azimio had been there for Dave whenever his dog had escaped from their yard and got hit by a car.

They had fought together through _everything_.

And now all of it was going to be gone. All because Dave had changed too greatly, shifted into too different a person and Azimio couldn't stand it. There was no more dependability. There was no more consistency, there was only the new. There was new-Dave and old-Azimio and they didn't fit together like the two halves of a whole they used to be. Maybe Azimio hated him for that.

Or maybe Dave was giving him too much credit. Azimio never was one for contemplating his feelings. Not a very "guy" thing to do.

Dave had hoped the…confrontation would be farther away, but he had known deep down that was unrealistic.

He just wished it had gone down better.

It would figure though, that Azimio would be the guy to try and slushie Sam when Dave was playing guard duty, too busy narrowing his eyes at anyone with a cup within their immediate vicinity to catch sight of Azimio until he was only a few feet from them, cup posed at Sam, and Dave didn't even think about it.

Sam pulled back, already preparing for the shock of icy cold and Dave smoothly stepped in front of him, taking the full hit, right across the chest and _shit_-

_Shitshitshitshitshit__**shit**__-_ that was _cold_. He had forgotten just how- yes, that was _very_-

There were two other jocks waiting behind Azimio, Wayne and Stevens, clearly unsure of how to proceed as they clutched their still-full slushies. Azimio glared at Dave, irritated that he had gotten in the way of his shot. Not apologetic, not even the _tiniest_ hints of remorse or even casual, half-hearted _"Oops"_. Azimio knew what had happened, and he didn't care. Dave had brought it upon himself.

This was a warning. A taste of what could be.

"Move," Azimio ordered, making an agitated gesture for Dave to step aside. "Get out of the way Dave, blondee here's the target."

"Now wait a minute-" Sam was pissed, finally breaking out of the shock that he was _not_, in fact, covered in color-dyed slush. "What the hell's-"

"I got it Sam," Dave muttered, holding an arm up to keep the blond safely behind him but never allowing his gaze to shift from Azimio's. "Just slushie me," he continued and motioned wearily to the other two jocks, as though to say _"You've got to do what you've got to do_" as nonchalantly as possible.

Azimio bristled at the statement, fury written on his features at the confirmation, it was official, but it was by no means over.

Nope, now it was time to fight.

Dave just hoped he wouldn't have to punch him.

"You're picking _them_, over _us_?" Azimio ground out, disbelieving and ashamed, disappointed at Dave's choice and there- yes, some sorrow. He knew what Dave was giving up.

So it would be worse then.

There was tension in the hallway, everyone frozen to watch the commotion, apprehensive as to how Dave would answer, how _they_ should respond. Who was in the right here? Dave, or Azimio?

Behind him, Dave could sense Sam tense up, waiting just as anxiously as the rest of their audience. And Dave, he would hate it; he would, if he didn't so obviously deserve it.

"Clearly," Dave replied, voicing a level of calmness that was purely show, his insides wound too tight and crippled, scared and wanting nothing more than to hide.

"Are you crazy?!" Azimio snarled back and Dave, for the life of him, couldn't keep from rolling his eyes.

"_I'm_ crazy? You're the one throwing slushies at people because they do something _you don't like_. That action, that there, that is the act of a crazy person."

"Don't act so high and mighty," Azimio spat. "You used to do it too."

"'_Used to'_ being the key words here," Dave replied, and there was some movement off to the side. _There_, Mike and Puck were making their way up the hallway, moving to stand behind Dave.

Moral support, he could use it.

"So that's it then?" Azimio asked. "We're not _good_ enough for you? You're so above the order, the _system_ that you're gonna spend all your free time as a faghag-"

"Do what you have to man," Dave interrupted; sure he wouldn't be able to last through anymore derogatory remarks. "You wanna follow a system then by all means, who am I to take that comfort from you? But don't you think for one _second_ that it is not _insane_. That if you stopped to think about it the utter madness of it all would escape you." His hands tugged at the bottom of his shirt nervously, and he glanced down to grimace at the purple dye sinking into his shirt, the cold and the wet clinging to his frame so it wouldn't settle properly. "Don't think this," he said, motioning to the slushie remnants. "Is not what crazy people do, because it is. It's petty, it's _stupid_, and-" He stared Azimio, making sure the other teen _knew_ he understood the weight of his own words. "It is the act of a _child._"

A very sore spot for Azimio. Dave had hoped it would bring him around to see the light.

Instead Azimio lunged for him, grabbing at the collar of his shirt, clearly deliberating between punching Dave or strangling him, and Dave ignored the feeling of disappointment that welled inside him.

This had always been the other option; he had just hoped Azimio was better than it.

He wasn't. He wasn't what Dave wanted and Dave…

He wasn't what Azimio wanted _at all_.

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As crazy as Coach Sylvester was she had the best goddamn timing in the world, Azimio never laid a hit on Dave before she was breaking them up, pulling the two boys apart and marching them down to Principle Figgins' office like it was her God-sworn duty. Puck and Mike had swiftly moved in after that and spirited Sam away, probably to the safety of the choir room, and Dave could see on closer inspection that Puck had already gotten slushied at least once that day. Twice if they had used the same flavor, judging by the volume. Sam was safe, and Wayne and Stevens had vacated the premises as soon as Coach Sylvester hit the scene, knowing the rules. They had to survive to see another day, no point in staying behind to get picked up by the crazy coach.

That left Azimio and Dave alone in an empty office while Principal Figgins coordinated with Coach Sylvester and the school secretary to decide what to do. The two students were _supposed_ to be filling out incident reports, but since both of them were fully aware that student incident reports weren't used for a _goddamn thing_, they didn't put much effort into them. What was the point?

Still, Dave found it easier to pretend he was dutifully scribbling away on his piece of paper than it was to meet the accusatory gaze of his old friend, paper in front of him remaining completely neglected as he chose to best utilize his time by attempting to bore into the side of Dave's head using only the fierceness of his stare. To this point he was unsuccessful, but it was not for lack of trying.

Dave wasn't ashamed to admit his relief when Azimio's frustrations could not longer remain silent; slamming his pencil down beside him on the couch he was sitting on.

"How could you take his side?!" Azimio snarled. Now that they were out of the hallway Dave could see the betrayal and disappointment written on his face, like he couldn't believe what had just happened, even when he had seen all the signs. He thought they were better than that.

Well, Dave had thought so too.

Dave's anger was fading, not completely dissipated but weak enough so that he could conquer it with logic, shove it away into some empty corner of his mind while he tried to think of a way to save this, maybe. Use his words in a more proactive method. Like he used to. You know, to _try_ and have an actual conversation with his friend. Those used to happen. There was no reason they couldn't happen again.

Just, one last time.

Dave carefully rested the pencil and half-finished report in his lap with a sigh, trying to show he was just as…wounded, he guessed, just as tired as Azimio was.

"He's not a bad kid A. Sure, he's a little dumb, but he's actually a good guy."

Luckily by this point Azimio wasn't expecting Dave to immediately leap back on the _'let's-hate-glee-club'_ train, so the anger that remained was only Azimio's usual distaste for Sam, rather than the stinging remains of betrayal. "A guy that likes to sing and prance around on stage," Azimio huffed, folding his arms. "That is _not_ a normal guy."

Dave shrugged. "Singing and dancing aren't a crime."

Disgust, true and blatant on his face, and Azimio's eyes widened, disbelieving. "Do you even listen to yourself? What happened to you?"

"What happened to _me_?" Dave snapped, unable to…_deal_ with how purely indignant Azimio was being, like _he_ was the injured party. "_You're_ the one who's persecuting people because they participate in a certain extracurricular activity, one that's field of professionals can potentially make _millions_ and happen to be the most famous people in the whole country, an _I'm_ the one with the problem?! You're asking what happened to me, but what happened to you? When did you become this narrow-minded dickwad?"

Dave forced himself back into a slouch, relaxing out of the threatening lurch he had gotten into when delivering his rant. Yes, the conversation devolving into anger had probably been unavoidable; Dave just wished he had a better handle on his emotions because he had never wanted to be the one to cause it. Then again, it wasn't like enlightening Azimio on the errors of his ways had really been an attainable goal, but Dave had thought…

Well, maybe in the beginning he would have had a shot.

But he never had. Azimio was stubborn as hell.

They fell into a tense silence and in his peripherals Dave could see the frenzied movements of Coach Sylvester through the windows, mouth moving in one of her classic rants of pure lunacy while Principal Figgins looked on with a bored expression, eyes glazed over as he waited for her to be finished.

Dave was considering attempting to read the coach's lips when Azimio spoke up again.

"So that's it now," he said, sounding bitter. "You're one of them?"

_One of __**them**_.

_One of the glee losers, one of the __**freaks?**_

_You're going to choose __**them**__, the outcasts, over __**me**__?_

Dave scrunched his eyes closed against the onslaught of unspoken words, exasperated and falling into frustration at Azimio's stubbornness.

One last plea, just _one last_ _**try**_ and then he would be done. And then Dave would give up. For all the history they had, it was worth one last-ditch effort.

"They're _not_ bad people A," Dave began, using the familiar nickname as a kind of grounding point. "They're not the ones that throw people into dumpsters or slam kids into lockers, they're not the ones lashing out so that others won't try to take them down they-" He swallowed, then made a conscious effort to gather himself. Azimio was _not_ the person he needed to admit his sins to. "They just do what makes them happy. It doesn't hurt anyone. Why is that a problem?"

When he looked at Azimio he was surprised to find agreement in the other jock's face. No refusal, like Dave had valid points, but he was still frustrated, like there was a point Dave was missing.

"You _know_ why it's a problem."

Dave shook his head, fighting off a tinge of sorrow. "I actually don't."

Azimio sighed, looking up to the ceiling as though he were asking for strength, something so familiar with the gesture it actually hurt Dave inside. It was the expression Azimio got whenever he had to educate Dave on something he was painfully unaware of, a wise older brother sort of thing, begrudgingly granting knowledge upon the uninformed because he was feeling generous.

"Sure," Azimio said when his gaze turned back to Dave. "First it's singing and _then_ it's those stupid neck handkerchief and doily's and-"

"Are you suggesting," Dave murmured, voice cracking at the outright _stupidity_ of his former friend. "That _not_ harassing the glee club will lead to…what, a rampancy of homosexuality?"

Not the right words, too high dollar, not casual enough to be the ones he should have used, but they were the only ones Dave could come up with. It was hitting close to home, touching at this modicum of resentment Dave had always tried his damndest to pretend didn't exist but in this moment couldn't be more painfully exposed. This was the fault line. This was what broke them into two different people.

"It's not about the dancing," Azimio was saying. "It's about the idea that they can be different, that they could encourage others to be different."

Dave frowned. "And different in this case just means 'gay', doesn't it?"

Because other differences were nothing to worry about. They didn't threaten one's masculinity, they didn't make people uneasy, they were accepted.

Sexual preference was the only '_difference'_ where this was not the case.

For the first time in probably days Azimio smiled, relief in his eyes. "Now you're getting it," he said, slouching back against his couch cheerfully, glad that their little alteration had come to an end.

Dave almost felt sorry for his ignorance but found that, despite the length of their friendship, he could not.

So, that was it then.

Dave dropped his gaze to the floor, rubbing at his head wearily as he let out a defeated sigh. "No," he said, very quietly. "I really, really don't."

When he looked up the smile was wiped clean off of Azimio's face, though the jock may play dumb sometimes he was faster at connecting the dots than others would give him credit for.

"You don't want to pick their side Dave," he warned, looking almost grave as he said it. "It's not worth it."

He wasn't sure why Azimio bothered, except that maybe their friendship was something he wanted to save too, gracing him with a determination to at least _try_. It made Dave wish that the other teen didn't care so much. He wished it meant less.

It would make this easier.

Dave held the other jock's gaze, staring him down in all seriousness. "I think I can make my own call on this one Azimio, but thanks for the advice."

He didn't expect anything else to be said after that, he said his piece, Azimio said his, and there was nothing more to it than to finish off their high school careers pretending they didn't know each other.

So he was somewhat surprised when Azimio cleared his throat after a resigned moment of silence, stating quietly, "I won't be able to help you."

His expression was just as serious as Dave's had been, there were no alternatives, no negotiating, simply facts. He wouldn't help Dave.

Despite himself, Dave found it comforting that his (old) friend was kind enough to be straight forward about that.

"I know," Dave answered, nodding slightly. "I won't ask you to."

After that there was nothing more to say.

The deal was done.

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As expected no punishments were doled out as a result of the slushie incident. Dave and Azimio had both pleaded it was an accident and Azimio's grappling the result of a small altercation they couldn't even remember anymore, boys being boys with short tempers and lots of testosterone, they knew the drill. Dave would have bothered with the truth but he wanted a clean ending to this, like they could separate amicably. Azimio, if he agreed with this, never said so. But he did give Dave a slow nod of approval, maybe thanks, so Dave considered the message received.

Dave wasn't sure how much of the story Coach Sylvester believed, but seeing as the injured party here just happened to be a kid she particularly despised, she didn't put up a fight. It was nice. Partially worrisome; but nice.

Dave opted to skip the rest of eighth period, seeing as it was mostly over anyway, in favor of cleaning himself up some. Today he was supposed to head over to Azimio's after school but those plans were pretty much shot now. He would check in on Sam instead, catch him after glee rehearsal or something, so that gave the jock plenty of time to change into his backup shirt and salvage what he could of his stained one. He needed to wash it as soon as he got home, but he would have to wait for his mom to be busy cooking dinner before he could make a move for the laundry room. It was the only way he could avoid questions.

He supposed now that he had publicly stood up for Sam and abandoned the jocks he was officially an outcast, or something in between. Whatever his label, Dave figured it would be enough so he could sneak into the auditorium and use the sink in the male dressing room to clean up. Seeing as the only kids that used it were in glee club, there would be no objections. Or even anyone there to stop him. It was a safe enough place to hide.

He should probably start getting used to that now, hiding.

So he was moderately surprised when the door opened while he was staring at the sordid state of his shirt, eyebrows furrowed as he considered the best plan of attack. Dave chose the words "moderately surprised" because he couldn't honestly be shocked when a glee kid popped in whenever you least expected them to. It was sort of their thing. They latched onto gossip that pertained to their members with a fervent kind of enthusiasm that was beyond most people, so as Dave was an…open support, he guessed, it wasn't all that shocking that his usual force field of _don't screw with me_ suddenly no longer applied.

Then again, it was Rachel, so it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway.

"Are you going to say that was a brave thing I did?" he asked, genuinely curious as he reached forward and turned the cold water on. "Because that sounds like a thing you'd say."

"No," Rachel replied with a shrug, quietly strolling to his side and offering up a roll of paper towels, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "It's a little too overused, though I feel the sentiment is appropriate."

"Of course." Dave nodded, accepting the towels. "And…thanks?"

For the sentiment?

"You're welcome," she replied with a smile. Dave let out a relieved breath he hadn't known he was holding and fixed his eyes on the towel roll, hoping to hide any bashfulness he was feeling.

It shouldn't feel like such high praise, but it somehow did, coming from Rachel. He wasn't sure why.

"Are you here to recruit me?" he asked, pulling off a couple of towels and patting them against his shirt carefully, absorbing what stray slush he could.

"Don't think I need to," Rachel replied, eyes honest. "Though whether you are being specific to the actual glee club, as opposed to a mere supporter would differentiate some things."

"Such as…?" Dave prompted, chucking the used paper towels into the waste bin before grabbing the bottom of his shirt, preparing to yank it off.

"You're always welcome in the choir room David," Rachel didn't-quite-answer. "Should you need it. And if you'd like to join us for Nationals well…" she trailed off. When Dave had his removed and dumped into the sink he met a mischievous gaze in the mirror, knowing and twinkling with a kinship he didn't know they had.

"Well," she continued. "I think Sam would be thrilled."

She finished this with a wink, playful but also knowing, also…

He grabbed the edge of the sink carefully, making a casual attempt to steady himself while he tried to figure out whether this was an optimistic sales pitch or a hint she was in on his secret, his plan, but who would-?

"I asked Brittany," she offered, reading the confusion on his face. Dave cursed, low and quiet and blatantly ignoring his mother's voice in the back of his head chastising him for using such foul language in front of a lady. Not that Rachel seemed to mind.

If anything, it was what she had been expected, and she nodded in sympathy, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his bare arm.

"Wait," Dave said, rubbing a tired hand against his head. "You asked? Why did you-?"

"It's a long story," Rachel explained. "But I was beginning to have my suspicions-" he let out a few more choice expletives and the grip on his arm intensified. "-after a series of events that are _very_ particular to my person, don't worry about it, so I asked and Brittany told me."

Dave shook his head; if _that_ was all that was necessary how in the hell was this still a secret anyway? _How_?

"I think it was because I'm in glee club," Rachel continued, because her feminine powers gave her the ability to read his _mind_. "It's not like she'll just tell anyone."

"Just anyone in glee," he finished, defeated anew.

"Well we are your people now," Rachel said cheerfully, going so far as to give a thumbs up at his worried stare. "And besides, I won't tell anyone anyway. You're secret's safe."

"And that's just what I don't get about you guys," Dave grumbled, poking at the blue-purple mess of his sodden shirt resting in the sink. "I was a dick. If someone was a dick to me and I found out their deepest, darkest secret I would be using it against them _happily_. But not you guys." He gestured his hand out hopelessly, stress of the day finally bearing down on him. "You guys are just-"

"That was old-Dave," Rachel interrupted, looking remarkable unapologetic for jarring Dave out of his pity-rant. "_We_ are like new-Dave. And I don't think new-Dave would do any of those things now, would he?"

"Should I answer in third person?" Dave asked, avoiding the question. But then Rachel put her hands on her hips, indicating that business was now being meant, and Dave sighed. "Yeah, you're right."

"As I usually am."

The reply was genuine, but there was a bit of snark to it, a playful edge, and Dave found himself smiling back at this crazy short person, who was loud and blunt and for some odd reason kind to wayward teenagers. Kind when they had been cruel.

He gave a slow nod in return, choosing to indicate his thanks in silence. Any words he chose right now would be too many and too unorganized and _way_ to open and bare to someone he was just barely more than acquaintances with. Dave was actually surprised he was holding himself this well together, all things considered. Though he supposed if there was an actual budding relationship going on here, he should ask her about that 'series of particular incidents' at some point.

But that was for later.

"So what's the plan then?" he asked, moving the conversation forward, turning his eyes away from the beaming female to the soaked pile of fabric in the sink. It wasn't a significant loss, Dave had stopped wearing the shirts he really liked the moment Sam got slushied. A preventative control to save his wardrobe. Not usually something he'd care about, shirts were shirts, but his mind had a nasty habit of insisting Sam liked some of them more than others.

"Well," Rachel began, pleased expression plastered on her face as she began to bestowing wisdom. "_Now_ I get to teach you the tricks I learned from being in glee club. What the least-traveled hallways are, all the designated 'neutral' zones, and of course-" She reached a dainty hand down and tugged at his shirt, inspecting the purple blotches littered on it. "How to get slushie stains out of your clothes."

"All useful things," Dave said nonchalantly, taking a moment to feel horrible about these survival tips the glee kids had come well accustomed to. It wasn't an act, Rachel was a practiced hand at this, knew from personal experience.

"Indeed," Rachel said. "You should be grateful. In fact-" The mischievous eyes were back, peaking up at Dave through curled lashes while Rachel kept her head tilted towards the sink. "I think my generosity deserves a reward."

"Knew it," Dave replied stoically, playing along with her goad under the assumption she would ask him to be in glee club, and surprised an impish smirk began playing on her lips.

"It's just that, why should I stop on one subject when I could help you with _other_ things?"

And by other things she had to mean-

"No," Dave responded immediately, dropping the act with a firm headshake, and Rachel's smirk fell into a pout.

"_Dave_."

"No," the jock repeated, thankful for her efforts, but firm. Immovable.

_Hopefully_, immovable.

Though his resolve was firmly tested whenever she decided to whip out the puppy eyes. "But I could _help_ you Dave. I'm not going to make you serenade him or anything-" Good, because Dave would most certainly _never_ do that. "-but wouldn't it be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of? You know, for the romantic stuff?"

"I think I would have a better idea of what he wants than you would." Because he was a guy and Sam was a guy, a regular guy. Not a Kurt-guy, just a regular Joe Schmo who didn't require grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics or horses riding off into the sunset.

"It's not about that," Rachel maintained, eyes wide and earnest. "Maybe I didn't phrase this correctly. It's not about what you do; it's about _how_ you do it. You know what I mean? To get him to stop seeing you as his friend and to start-"

"I know where it ends," Dave interrupted, cutting her off before she could vocalize his pathetic pipe dream. She supported him, that was more than he could have wanted, but he wasn't sure…

"Look," he said, fixing his gaze to hers in a blunt stare-down, nothing but honesty from here on out. "While I would appreciate having someone to be able to…discuss strategy with, as you will, if this happens, and that is a big _if_, your participation…"

"Will be strictly limited to a supportive confidant," Rachel finished with a smile. "And I solemnly swear to let you carry on however you see fit."

"And no bothering Sam," he warned, shaking a finger at her. "Even when I'm not around, got it? No words will be spoken to him that aren't about like, songs and stuff. Deal?"

"Deal," Rachel said, going so far as to offer out her hand so they could shake on it.

Dave studied it for a second, contemplating if he was in the right mental state to make this decision, and decided to hell with it. Why not?

Her grip was stronger than it looked, but it wasn't that surprising. She was Rachel Berry, and while she may be small, she was certainly mighty.

"Excellent!" Rachel cheered, clapping her hands together. "You won't regret this David."

"Yeah," Dave agreed quietly, unsure of what else there was to say. That seemed to be enough though, as Rachel went back to poking at his shirt, rubbing carefully at the spots that seemed to have higher concentrations of dye absorbed.

It was only a few minutes later when the bell rang, signaling the end of a school day and the release of the hordes, masses of students tumbling into the hallways and scrambling towards freedom and after school activities.

Dave frowned, studying his watch to confirm this, then looked back at Rachel, still poking dutifully away at his shirt.

"Did you cut class for this?" he asked.

"Nope," Rachel replied, not the least bit surprised by his question. "I have eighth period off. I usually practice in the auditorium, on the days that we have glee club."

Dave tilted his head, studying her. "So you _didn't_ see the…"

"Nope," Rachel answered, understanding where he was going. "But Tina's been pretty much texting it to everyone non-stop, keeping us updated." She paused, frowning down at her hands as though considering, then looked back up at Dave through the mirror. "Sam seems pretty upset though."

"Well then," Dave began, heart beating just a tiny bit faster at the idea of causing any kind of distress for his friend. "We should probably check on him, shouldn't we?"

"That sounds like a solid plan," Rachel agreed, and then the next second the paper towels were tossed back into Dave's face, the culprit responsible back to innocently wringing out his shirt the moment he got his vision cleared of wayward projectiles. "But first," Rachel continued, voice innocent as though nothing had happened. "You should probably finish drying off."

Dave looked down at his chest, confirming that the cold of the slushie must have numbed his ability to feel it because there was still a sizeable amount that had soaked through his shirt, slicking up his torso.

"Perve," he grumbled quietly, realizing what it must have looked like, and the only response was a quiet bark of laughter and another beaming smile, hands focused on the task of drying out his shirt.

He groused some more for show, dabbing wads of crumbled towel against his chest while Rachel hummed a quiet tune beside him. He frowned, considering the now-wet mass in his hands, about to chuck it into the waste bin with its predecessors when Rachel broke the silence.

"Hey Dave?" Rachel said, now focused on folding his damp shirt in a few layers of paper towels, for storage purposes, most likely.

"Yeah Rachel?"

He relieved himself of his soggy burden with a quick throw, then turned towards his backpack and began rooting through it, not stopping until his hand felt the soft material of his backup shirt. He moved to put it on but stopped, feeling Rachel's gaze on him, and turned to give her his full attention.

She was held still, like she had been back when she had spied on the beginning of his and Sam's "investigation", like she was considering him.

Eventually, she nodded, eyes fixed to his as a small smile tugged at her lips.

"I'm glad we got to be friends," she admitted.

She held his gaze for about a second more before turning her attention back to her work, not expecting a response.

Which was just tough shit, because she was going to get one.

Dave, happy to surprise her, pulled his new shirt on quickly before he crouched down at her side, reaching out a hand for the neatly-wrapped package of paper towels.

"I'm glad too," he said, quietly.

Not because he wasn't proud of it, but because it didn't need the volume. It was a quiet moment, so he adapted himself appropriately. Something he thought Rachel would appreciate.

"Well then," he said, offering out his arm after he slinging his backpack over one shoulder, aiming towards the door. "Shall we?"

She studied him for a moment, surprise and delight clear as the morning sun on her face until she schooled it off, composing herself.

Rachel nodded with an air of regality, accepting the proffered arm with dignity and grace, her nose pointed into the air.

"We shall," she agreed, as comfortable as though they had done it a million times.

Odd. Odd, _odd, __**odd**_- yet still, _great_.

Dave wouldn't trade it, not for anything.

They left the room walking side-by-side, content, and Dave reflected on the large number of friends he had managed to lose that day.

And the small army of crazy people he had gotten in exchange.

Probably not one of his better decisions but then…Well, you only live once.

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

Endnotes:

Because Dave couldn't be a popular dude forever. I'm sorry, those are just the rules.

Anyway, thanks to Abby for reviewing last chapter! Sorry, I did not mean to sic' a guilt trip on you. I'm really just happy you review and I respect however you choose to do that. It is a privilege, and not one I will critique.

On a completely unrelated note, raise your hand if you have _also_ been distracted/teary-eyed by the might that is "A Very Potter Senior Year". For those of you who haven't, you are missing out my friends. Missing out.

Until next time.


	9. Too Late For Second-Guessing

Chapter 9

Too Late For Second-Guessing

* * *

-:-:-:-:-:-

* * *

"So there isn't even a notebook at all," Finn said, repeating Kurt's story in a sorry attempt to better understand it. "You just made it up so Dave could spend time with Sam."

It made his brain hurt, it really did, Kurt and Mike's little…whatever this was, but Finn liked to think that at the end of it he had at least a _basic_ understanding of what was going on.

Even if he actually like, didn't.

"Correct." Kurt nodded, looking vaguely bored by this.

_Oh_, so Finn had gotten it right then. Awesome.

"And you didn't think to mention any of this when the interrogations started?"

Because that seemed like a thing that would be important to do. Kurt should _know_ how out-of-hand these things could get without someone keeping an eye on them, and it sure as hell didn't look like _Kurt_ was doing anything to keep the shenanigans from starting.

A part of Finn was sulking that the out-of-hand instances in this particular case were solely based on his little subset of detectives that had attempted to do their own investigating, and that maybe the irritation he was feeling had something to do with _that_, but he tried to ignore that part.

Because in his defense, Kurt _should_ have known better.

"I honestly didn't think it would get that far Finn," Kurt replied with a nonchalant shrug, eyes still half-lidded in a perfect expression of disinterest as he watched his step brother pace the length of the choir room, appearing perfectly content to study the other teen from his chair on the risers. "It was intended as an activity they could do together. Allow them to improve their bond. I expected Dave to keep a handle on things."

"I don't know why though," Blaine muttered from the seat beside his boyfriend, eyes fixed to the fissured ceiling tiles above, as though they would grant him some form of patience he couldn't quite find on ground level. "Being that Dave pretty much follows along with whatever particular whim hits Sam."

"With care though," Kurt argued, keeping his tone even. "You have to admit David's good at reeling in Sam's excess…"

"Enthusiasm," Blaine finished with a thoughtful nod, shaken out of enough of his annoyance of being left out to see Kurt's side of things.

_Psh,_ Finn had totally called that. It had only been a matter of time before Blaine was overcome by Kurt's boyfriend-enchantments. Any second now their eyes were going to get all glazed over and lovey-dovey, tunnel visioning so that they were the only two people in the universe and Finn would not stand for it, he couldn't, they had stuff to talk about. Stuff like how Karofsky was putting the moves on Sam and no one was trying to stop it. Worse, they were _trying _to make it happen. The last thing Finn wanted to be was a cockblocker, it was totally against the Bro Code and he was a firm believe in the "Do unto others" moto but there _needed_ to be someone in on this secret that felt like pointing out the rather large flaws in Kurt's plan.

The main one being that Sam was not gay.

Finn had already had his share of attempted-homosexual flirtations, and while he and Kurt had a good relationship now, as brothers, there was still that lengthy uncomfortable period where Finn had been afraid to go home for fear of Kurt's looks of perpetual longing.

It hadn't been a fun situation to be in. It was kind of flattering at first, but the fact that Kurt hadn't given up even after Finn had made it clear he was remarkably straight left the jock in this state of awkward limbo, trying to fend off Kurt's advances without being a dick about it, because they _were_ friends, kind've-sort've. But it turned out his intentions didn't matter anyway because it still ended with him saying things he still regretted saying to this day and getting thrown out of his own home, and check it, _still_ not gay.

He could understand if Kurt had been trying to lure him out the closet, like, if that had been the case, but it hadn't. His persistence had only made Finn uneasy, like if Kurt tried hard enough he could convince Finn to change his sexual preference, but that wasn't how it worked.

All of that was water under the bridge, they were good now, but it had taken time. Time and patience, personal growth and understanding, but Finn would have preferred it if it had just _started_ that way.

Sam wasn't Finn, if Dave was hitting on him now he was still completely oblivious, and Dave sure as hell wasn't Kurt, so it wasn't like Sam would have to worry about public serenades or room redecorations or anything. They were more similar, that was why they were such good friends.

Finn's only intention was to keep that going and if it required _him_ being the voice of reason then he would do it, regardless of how hysterical Kurt and the others might find it. Someone needed to think about Sam.

So Blaine and Kurt's prolonged-loving-eye-stare time needed to be put to a stop now, because if Finn was going to miss eighth period he was going to use his time _wisely_ damnit.

"Okay, so you guys think they're perfect for each other," Finn began, marching until he was behind Blaine's chair and casually pushing it into the center of the room, successfully breaking the other teen's eye contact as Blaine turned to stare at him quizzically. Finn ignored him; just to see how he would like it. "But have you thought-?"

"And now comes the portion of the afternoon where you object to this fine matchmaking," Kurt deadpanned, like he had been expecting this (and he probably had, Kurt was kind've smart that way). The taller teen frowned, ignoring his initial instinct to protest, and settled for swiveling Blaine's chair around so that he was facing Kurt again. Risky, but with the added distance and the threat of impeding argument, Kurt could manage to keep with the program.

"Someone should," Finn replied. "Look, I'm glad there's an actual reason for Karofksy's past dick-like behavior and the fact that he's turned over a new leaf and all, but eventually this whole thing's going to turn messy. Shouldn't we think about that?"

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him, combating Finn's argument with a look of calmness. "And exactly _how_ is this going to turn 'messy', as you say?"

"They're good friends Kurt," Finn replied, trying to show that he understood, he _got this_, but Kurt needed to level with him here. "But Sam doesn't swing that way."

"And you're positive about this?" Kurt responded casually, the only indication he was putting forth more than minimum exertion for this conversation being how his arms folded across his chest, like he was taking a battle stance, but remained sitting. "You know for sure?"

"He's my roommate Kurt; if he were into dudes wouldn't he have checked me out at least like, once?"

"_Someone_ sounds full of himself," Blaine-the-traitor muttered.

Finn responded with a flick to his ear, ignoring the pained objection below and narrowed-eyed glare from across the room when he did so.

"Not full of myself," Finn continued, disregarding both responses. "Just, logical right? I'm not a bad looking guy; I think I'd warrant at least _one_ look over. And so far, I've got nothing."

"Have you been _watching_ for it though?" Kurt countered, looking more intimidating and collected than he should sitting in a red plastic chair. "If you warrant only _one-_"

"Seriously Kurt?" Finn gave him an incredulous look, willing the other teen to level with him. "Are you that desperate for you to be right? You know-"

"Finn," Kurt interrupted, holding up a hand to silence the standing teen mid-sentence. "Do you really think I would let this continue, that I would not advise David against this, if I thought there wasn't a chance for his success?"

Finn understood Kurt's position, that he cared just as much as the jock did, but Finn needed to press on anyway.

Because at the end of the day, there was no chance for Kurt to remain completely objective here.

"I know you've thought about this Kurt," Finn began, hand gripping lightly on the back of Blaine's chair, bumping against the other teen's shoulders. "I know you well enough that you wouldn't go into this without thinking things through. But I _also_ know that you would hope for Dave, root for him like he's some kind of underdog in a feature movie, but this isn't…this isn't like that. This is real life Kurt. And in real life you don't _get_ these perfectly-balanced happy endings; you get chaos. You get guys who aren't bright but are ridiculously loyal, who will try to do just about anything they can for a friend; but despite these qualities, they're still human Kurt. The only thing you're doing now is forcing Sam into a corner and he doesn't deserve that."

"Shouldn't Sam get to speak for himself?" Kurt asked, voice low with obvious restraint, eyes flashing. "That's his choice right? Shouldn't he at least be _aware_ of his options? And besides that, shouldn't Dave get the chance to fight for what he wants? This isn't a Dictatorship Finn, with you as the be-all, end-all authority on who can pursue romantic relationships with whom. This is _life_," he said, emphasizing Finn's argument from earlier. "And Dave _deserves_ his chance."

"I understand what your saying Kurt." Finn did, he really did. "And hell, I even agree with you, but I can't just sit around doing nothing when I know what's going to happen when this goes south."

"And what if it doesn't?" Kurt countered, eyes narrowing in that insanely focused look that was reserved for things of the most importance. "What if it all turns out fine? What if Sam actually _wants_ to date Dave? Is it okay _then_, or does it still offend your masculinity to know that you've lost yet another one of your machismo-infused 'bros' to homosexuality?"

"You know that's not what this is about Kurt," Finn sighed, closing his eyes to escape the view of Kurt's disappointment and barely-restrained anger.

In front of him, Blaine remained silent, choosing to allow the two brothers to hash this one out which was, actually, something Finn was grateful for.

Finn was actually surprised by the quiet response that broke into his reprieve, startled by how different the tone was now that he wasn't looking.

"Yes Finn, I know." It was a murmured agreement, tired and soft, and when Finn opened his eyes again Kurt was focused on the far side of the room, perfect posture almost slouched against the back of his chair the only indication of sudden weariness. "I know Finn," he repeated, turning to stare at the other teen. "I know your concerns, I know you don't want Sam to be put in an uncomfortable situation, but I need you to let this happen. I need you to give Dave a chance. Let Sam live his own life."

It was in that moment Finn understood this really had been an even conversation all along.

He wasn't the only one who was re-living flashbacks, Kurt was too. And if Kurt knew, if he was aware of what could happen and was _still_ rooting for Dave…

"After all," Kurt continued. "We ended up okay, eventually."

"Yeah," Finn replied, nodding as his eyes locked with Kurt's. "Yeah we did."

It didn't make Finn's urge to protect Sam as best as he could any less demanding, those overprotective instincts of defending his friend now to make up for all the times he had stupidly stood by and done nothing roaring back with deafening thunder, but Finn knew that in the end, Kurt was right. Even if Finn didn't think Dave would succeed, Sam had a right to choose for his own life. To respond how he wanted. And that wasn't Finn's call.

"Okay," Finn conceded, nodding slowly at the other two teens intently focused on him. "You have a point. I'll back off."

"Good."

Some of the tenseness in Kurt's shoulders seemed to dissipate after that, like that was one less burden he had to bear. He visibly relaxed, sinking back into his chair and Blaine considered his position for about half a second before he gave up his spot by Finn and made his way by to his boyfriend's side, back where he could give silent support and resume the loving-eyes from earlier. As they all knew, loving gazes were more effective up-close. It was science.

Finn was about to ask what they should do now in regards to the whole fake-notebook situation when the door to the choir room burst open, a fairly regular occurrence in itself (Mr. Schuester had even installed better door stops to minimize wall-damage), and in strode Mike and Puck, dragging a still-protesting Sam between them. It wasn't until the door was closed again that Finn got a better look at them, the flurry of movement now ending into a silent standoff between Mike and Sam, the dancer firmly in place between the blond and the door. Sam looked…jittery, sort of, clearly upset but not really with Mike. He looked like he just really wanted to go somewhere, like it was important, but Mike was not having it.

"Mike," Sam said, half-warning, half-pleading.

"Sam." Mike's response was quiet and reasonable, like they were having a normal conversation about the weather or something. Behind him, leaning against the door, Puck frowned down at the state of his shirt, only paying half-attention to the proceedings playing out.

It looked like Azimio was beginning to get more vindictive with his attacks because damned if Puck's clothes appeared to be more stained than clean, remains of every color-spectrum of slushie littered across his body. He was shivering too, which meant that at least some of the stains were fresh, but he continued to play it off. If there was one thing Puck would never do, it would be to admit anything Azimio did affected him. He would shave off his own Mohawk before doing that.

"There's nothing you can do to help him Sam," Mike continued, tone even. Finn would say he was calm were it not for the fact his hands were slightly shaking, like he was barely keeping it together. The dancer forced himself to be cool, to stay collected because someone had to, but Finn was willing to bet anything the other teen would rather be fretting over Puck right now, just like Blaine was clinging to Kurt.

"Of _course_ I can help him!" Sam gestured wildly with his arms, throwing them out to exert some pent-up frustration. "I could tell Figgins what Azimio did, I'm a witness-"

"But that won't help you in the long run," Mike replied calmly. "Either one of you."

"That doesn't matter!" Sam snarled. "Someone needs to do _something-_"

"Wait," Finn interrupted. Sam's anger might be well-founded, but with each outburst Mike was closer and closer to snapping. Seeing as a stressed-and-ranting Mike didn't normally assist with any situation (as past experience had told him), Finn decided to intercede, shifting the blond's attention to him so that Mike could take a breather and gather himself.

See, that was team captain business right there. He was a good leader.

…sometimes.

"What happened?" he continued, causing Sam's expression to twist into this horribly pissed-off thing, hands clenched against his sides in a futile effort to contain himself.

"What _happened_ was that Azimio slushied his _best friend_ and then tried to _strangle_ him in the middle of the hallway!"

"Hold on a second," Kurt was saying, perking up once enlightened on the situation, eyes concerned as they focused on Sam. "What exactly-?"

But Sam was still going, already pacing frantic laps across the room as he continued his explanation. "He was aiming at me and then Dave got in the way because he's _stupid-_"

"Because you're friends," Mike quietly murmured from his new position beside Puck, handing his boyfriend a roll of paper towels. The dancer didn't even flinch when Sam whirled around to face him, aggravated.

"I can take my own bullyings, thanks. I don't need someone to get in the way and be _stupid-_"

"Based on your ungratefulness he probably shouldn't have," Puck agreed with a slow drawl, patting down his Mohawk with expert care.

"_Ungrateful?"_ Sam echoed, mouth working around the word like he didn't understand its purpose in the given situation. "_I'm_ ungrateful? He just threw away a lifelong friendship!"

"Yeah, well it was with a shitty friend, so I don't think he's going to be too hung up on it," Puck replied, unbothered by Sam's raised voice.

Across the room the blond fumed silently, shoulders so tense they were hunching close to his neck, uncomfortable for Finn to even watch.

"That doesn't mean he should…" Sam sputtered, trying to think of an appropriate argument.

Mike took this opportunity to step back in. "Dave makes his own choices Sam. He did what was right for him; you can't fault him for that."

"Can we rewind for just a second here?" Kurt asked, finally moving to stand as he looked between the other teens, Blaine rising beside him. "What exactly happened to lead to attempted-strangulations?"

"Karofsky finally chewed Azimio out," Puck replied before Sam got a chance to. "Awesomely entertaining to watch, though Azimio didn't seem to appreciate it too much."

Sam appeared to be in another world, reliving the events in the hallway. "He just threw it away, like it was nothing."

"Good riddance, I say," Puck mumbled, earning a sharp look from Sam as he snapped out of his funk. "Azimio's been a piece of shit his entire high school career."

"But not to Dave," Sam protested, clearly still bothered by the abrupt ending of Dave's friendship.

Puck shrugged. "That all changed about ten minutes ago. Start living by the new rules Fish Lips."

Kurt stepped in before the blond could reply, the beginnings of a protest on Sam's lips interrupted by a few calming gestures as Kurt confidently strode in between the two teens. "Alright, enough of that. We're moving on to things that we _do_ have control over. Does this sound pleasing to everyone?"

"Fine by me," Puck replied, shrugging. He immediately dumped the conversation after that, choosing to focus on Mike instead with an expression that pretended to be annoyed with the other teen's hovering, but was ultimately glad for it.

Seeing as those two were accounted for, Kurt turned and leveled his gaze at Sam who was still pouting by the risers, arms folded across his chest in a sort of battle stance. He was still aiming for a fight, too worked up to give in just yet.

Kurt, recognizing this, sighed, and moved to stand in front of the blond.

"Damage control Sam," he explained in a calm and level voice, attempting to sooth what little of Sam's temper he could. "There's nothing we can do about the past; we simply have to prepare for the future."

"I know that."

The quiet confession silenced whatever protest Sam had on his lips. His eyes traveled over Kurt's shoulder to Mike who was frowning unhappily, staring at Puck's shirt. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel…" the dancer trailed off with a shrug, eyebrows furrowing as though his thoughts pained him. "I mean, I should have said something, right? Since I _am_ actually dating Puck. They should be throwing slushies at me."

"Mike-" Puck grabbed the dancer's wrist gently, smart enough to recognize how distraught his boyfriend was, but Mike just shook his hand.

"If I had-"

"_If 'ifs' and 'ands' were pots and pans, there'd be no need for tinkers."_

The teens turned to stare at Kurt with blank expressions on their faces, with the exception of Blaine, who was looking up at the ceiling as though attempting to place the quote.

"Eurydice people, read the play," Kurt huffed, too impatient to wait for their guesses. He waved a hand at Mike, capturing the other teen's attention and shifted into his signature Kurt-Hummel-gets-things-_done_ pose. It meant that some ranting was going to happen and so _help them_ if they want to get through it all in one piece they had better not even _think_ of interrupting. It was no exaggeration, that was exactly what it entailed.

Finn would know, he had been on the receiving end of it many times.

"It is okay to mourn the actions of the past; we are people, we feel things, it's part of our charm. It's not always to our benefit, but it happens. Now this, this little pity party and anger-fest thing? This is going to stop now, because we have stuff to do. Time is a valuable commodity and we are not going to _waste_ it focusing on things that are beyond our control. From this point onward we are focusing on what should we do next. _We_, as a team, to help Dave Karofsky."

Kurt had been staring each of them over very carefully as he said this, giving them each a thorough examination to see that they understood. He marched to the front of the room, over to the dry erase board where they all had a good view of him, and turned on his heel, looking every inch the social strategist as he had always made himself to be.

"Because it sure as hell doesn't look like anyone else is going to."

It was a heartfelt moment, something practically out of a prime-time television show, inspiring teary eyes and good feelings all around.

This was probably why Puck decided to ruin it, because that was just the kind of thing he usually did.

"I feel like the American flag should be waving behind you," the mohawked teen snarked. "Because if that wasn't primo inspirational, surviving the apocalypse quality of speech-giving then I don't know _what_ is."

"You are awful," Mike murmured, though the smile plastered on his face canceled out the negativity of his words. He leaned against Puck then, disregarding the slushie still soaked into the other teen's clothes and the two of them wasted a moment being stupidly gooey and radiating _lurve_ as was required by all couples. Or they would _die_.

This was also science.

"Focus," Kurt lectured with a snap, rolling his eyes at the other teens' antics. "Is that so much to ask for? Honestly, you would think it was the most gargantuan undertaking in the world-"

Further complaint was interrupted by some insistent knocking against the door; forcing Puck and Mike to break away long enough to step aside, allowing the damn thing to fly open again to reveal an irritated Santana.

"Can you believe this _bullshit_?" she groused.

Brittany, who had followed in after her, made a clucking noise with her tongue to object her girlfriend's wording. The blonde was pushing Artie's wheelchair, and both the cheerleader and the bespectacled teen managed to look disappointed when Santana aimed an apologetic look over her shoulder.

"Sorry," Santana murmured. "Can you believe this _nonsense_?"

"Dude, please tell me you are not self-censoring," Puck moaned. "I cannot lose another badass; we don't have enough of those as it is."

"First of all," Santana began, hand propping against her hip as she aimed a fierce glare at him. "There is nothing, read it, _nothing_ I could do that would ever make me less badass than you. That is all natural baby; I couldn't fight that if I wanted to. And second of all," she turned to face Kurt, changing her voice into a more informative tone. "It's just the one word. Britt's developed an aversion to it."

"It means poop," Brittany supplied, eyes wide and beseeching. "And Brittany S. Pierce does not support toilet humor. That was the foundation of my campaign platform."

"I thought your foundation was bribery and lies," Finn said before he could really think not to. Because he shouldn't have. Santana's wrath and all that.

But Brittany didn't seem to mind it too much, so he figured he was spared. The cheerleader just turned her unblinking stare towards him and nodded thoughtfully. "That was the _first_ foundation, I decided to renovate."

"I think I might have gotten lost in this metaphor," Sam murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He turned his attention towards a sympathetic Blaine, who assured him this was perfectly natural.

Blaine was sort of the go-to guy for that kind of thing. Finn would be amazed at the guy's patience were it not for the fact he dealt with _Kurt_ in his most manic of states, so at the end of the day a certain kind of serenity was the least you could expect from that guy.

Santana shook her head, realizing the conversation had devolved (as they usually did), and got back onto her original tirade. "As much as I love to support your political policies Britt can we please focus on the big picture here? Karofsky just got a face-full of slushie from that scumbag best friend of his and I'm willing to bet _anything_ that no one's going to get punished for it!"

"As it so happens we were just discussing that issue," Kurt replied, eerily calm in the face of Santana's temper. "Trying to decide what we should do next."

"Is there anything we _can_ do?" Artie asked, adjusting his glasses carefully. "We can't even help ourselves when _we_ get bullied, how are we supposed to help out Karofsky?"

Which was…a very good point.

Finn eyed his step-brother expectantly, wondering what schemes he had working up in his head. After the fictitious mystery case he had whipped up, Finn knew there was no end to Kurt's back-up plans.

The answer, it turned out, was pretty simple.

"By welcoming him to the fold." Kurt gestured his arms wide accordingly, questioning anyone to doubt him. "Dave obviously picked us over Azimio-"

"Which was pretty cool, by the way," Artie interrupted, unperturbed by the annoyed it earned him. "I mean, it's cool that he put his money where his mouth was."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked, almost looking like he was gearing for a fight again, but Artie just shrugged.

"We know he's not a dick to _you_ guys anymore, but just the fact that he's committed to not being a complete jerk anymore, that's cool."

"More than cool," Finn added, just in case anyone was wondering his opinion on it.

Also, he hadn't spoken in awhile, and that didn't seem very leader-ly of him.

Artie nodded happily. "Exactly."

Finn turned to see Santana studying him curiously. She was pleased with his response, obviously (she would have made it well known if she hadn't been) but suspicious as to Finn's sudden change of heart. Being pro-Karofsky had not been one of his more noted features.

Before she could press onward with a possible interrogation Mercedes breezed into the room, Quinn and Tina on her heels, clearly ready for some discussions.

"Did anyone else see this?" the diva asked, offering her phone screen to the others where a loop of the Karofsky/Azimio confrontation was playing. "I mean, is this for real? Did this _actually_ happen?"

What was more unbelievable to Finn was that someone had already uploaded video of this thing online. Like, seriously? It couldn't have happened more than half an hour ago, how the _hell_ did they manage to put it online?

Seriously, their internet connection had to be insanely fast for that to be managed.

"You think these stains are for show?" Puck drawled lazily, immediately ignoring the inquisitive look Mercedes sent his way in favor of focusing on the arrival of his girlfriend. By the looks of it, he was more than happy to be tag-teamed by the Asian Fusion at this moment which was fine and all, were it not for the fierce scowl Mercedes was sporting in response to it.

"So it's true?" Quinn said, stepping Mercedes could snap at Puck. "It wasn't staged or anything?"

"Dave wouldn't do that." Sam clearly took offense at the comment and straightened up, preparing to step back up to bat in the must-defend-Karofsky game.

Luckily, Quinn saw this and nodded carefully, responding, "I just wanted to be sure Sam, explore all the options."

Finn reached forward and grabbed at the riled blond's shoulder, leaning down to whisper while the rest of the club continued talking. "She didn't mean anything by it Sam, just chill." At the jock's extra annoyed look, Finn added, "We're all on the same team here."

That seemed to relax the other teen some, _finally_, but Finn kept his hand where it was, just in case.

You know, for moral support and stuff. It looked like Sam needed it.

By the time Finn geared back into the conversation Mercedes appeared to be challenging Kurt, both hands firmly planted on her hips. "What do you mean let him 'join up'? I know Karofksy's been acting chummy with you guys lately but that doesn't mean we should just welcome him in! Do you even _remember_ what he did to you?!"

"I appreciate your concern Mercedes; we all do, really," Kurt replied, sure to keep his tone even and conversational in the wake of her argument. "But I think it's pretty clear to all of us that Dave's turned over a new leaf."

"That doesn't mean-"

"He picked us over them," Sam protested, shoulder tensing underneath Finn's hand but luckily, making no move to approach her. "_That_ means something."

"If we take it to a vote I say we let the lad in."

Oh, hey- it was Rory, who seemed to have arrived with Joe and Sugar sometime when Finn had been comforting Sam. The quarterback was happy to see a full club representation here (well, almost) and even more glad for a voice of reason, but he couldn't help but wonder how everyone knew to gather here.

…wait, the texts he had received earlier probably had something to do with that. Tina sending out the glee-signal or something. That made sense.

"I mean," the Irish teen continued, blinking innocently in the onslaught of their surprised looks. "The guy put a stop to a whole herd o' jocks aiming to slushie me n' Sugar. Didn't gain anything from it. Far as I'm concerned, he's golden."

"I agree with Rory," Sugar added, bright and earnest. "Karofsky's saved my awesome wardrobe like, five times." She turned to face Rory, eyes wide. "And my favorite heels _twice_. I owe him."

The glee club seemed to fall into a quiet sort of murmuring between them, all of them commenting on Karofsky's deeds for the past few weeks. Now that Finn thought about it, he _had_ been free of a slushie-facial for quite awhile now. He hadn't even noticed it.

But Sam did, if the proud grin on his face was any indication.

Joe was the one that got the conversation moving again, dreadlocks swaying as his made his way toward the side of their subconsciously-formed circle. "The Bible says to forgive those who trespass against us."

"Exactly," Quinn agreed, nodding. "Who are we to turn someone away who's searching for redemption?"

"Assholes." This came from Puck, and when they all turned to stare at him he shrugged, explaining simply, "That's who we'd be."

"I would rather not be that," Brittany declared, clapping her hands together as though a thought just occurred to her. "That's too close to toilet-humor."

"That's six votes pro-Karofsky then," Quinn summarized. "Who else is in?" Her gaze smoothly glided over to Sam, graceful and deliberate, and she tilted her head in his direction. "I can assume you're a yes?"

"Definitely." Sam agreed with a determined nod, then looked around the room as though daring anyone to disagree with him.

Before that could happen, Finn decided to step in. "I'm for it."

"Me too," Tina and Mike said together, earning some amused chuckles from their boyfriend wedged between them. The female leveled a lovingly-irritated glare his way but Mike didn't even bother with the pretense of it, choosing to join in the laughter himself.

It was sort of a survival instinct you picked up when dealing with Puck.

"I've already said as much," Artie began. "But just for the record, I vote pro-Karofsky."

"As do I," Blaine added, a shy smile plastered on his face that Finn would definitely say was proud, looking at all of them with respect and gratitude.

"As do I," Kurt echoed. Then he and Blaine shared yet another conspiratorial look that was well-practiced to the point that it should frighten Finn, yet he found that it didn't, probably because of the obvious fondness shared between the two of them.

Okay, Finn could be good with this. He could give Karofsky his shot at Sam. Even if Finn didn't think it would work, he could understand why Dave would want to try for something like Kurt and Blaine had. Hell, like any couple had. It was nice to have a best friend you could date. Sort of made the entire experience _so_ much better.

"Well look at you guys, getting your democracy on."

The new voice came from the door. While it was surprising none of them had heard it open, Finn had to admit it was slightly _more_ shocking to see Lauren Zizes standing in the threshold of the choir room as casual as could be, as though it were perfectly reasonable for her to appear after quitting last semester. She continued over their shock, waltzing in slowly as she studied their faces with an expression of pure amusement. "And here I thought glee club had a tyranny-based system of leadership run by that squawking midget that likes to yell so much. Nice to see you guys try out something new."

"Why are you here Lauren?" Blaine asked, stepping in before someone could take offense and shoot a smart comment back.

Like, Santana and Lauren seemed cool enough nowadays, but it was usually better not to risk these kinds of things.

Just common sense, you know.

Zizes smirked and walked over to the well-dressed teen in a manner that could only be described as cocky, coming to a halt beside him with a nonchalant shrug. "After what happened to my boy Karofsky I figured he would end up here with you nerds. The way I see it, him joining up might just make this club bearable."

"_Excuse_ _me_?" Mercedes began, rant prepared and ready to launch with the snap of a finger. "Who the _hell_-?"

"So all I have to say is you're welcome," Zizes continued, talking over the rant with complete disregard. "Seeing as you let anyone in here. And if we're going to do this fun exercise of 'voting', I cast my ballot with the pro-Karofsky party. Again," she said, smiling at the rest of the club smugly. "You are welcome."

"Good to have you back bitch," Santana called, cupping a hand around her mouth, but surprisingly enough there was no bite to her words. If anything, Santana looked pleased with Zizes' return.

Finn decided it would be best for his mind not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. He didn't care why they were friends now; he would just go with it.

Sure, this could be the warning signs of their inevitable team-up to take over the world, but for the moment no one was trying to strangle anyone else, so he decided it was cool.

"So we're all agreed then?" Artie asked, hands folded in his lap as he moderated the conversation, calmly moving things along.

Kurt cleared his throat pointedly, capturing their attention. "Not quite."

As one, they all turned towards Mercedes, the process of elimination being pretty much instantaneous as they stared at the still-protesting girl.

She studied them all for a moment, tensed and prepared for battle. If there was anyone who would stick to their guns in the face of total adversity, it was Mercedes. She fought for her principles - quitting the musical made that pretty damn clear - and if she honestly thought that letting Karofsky join up would hurt the glee club, then she would fight them to the bitter end. It was, ultimately, for their benefit. At least in her opinion.

But Mercedes also had a big heart and keen observational skills. If everyone else was okay with this, including her fellow members of the God Squad, then odds were, this was a good move.

Finn held his breath and hoped that he was right in this case, and not just resorting to wishful thinking. Or confusion. It was very probably he had listed like, Rory's traits instead of Mercedes'. That happened sometimes.

But then Mercedes was sighing, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "_Fine_," she huffed. "If you think it's a good idea, I trust you."

Finn wasn't the only one who cheered when she conceded; Sugar and Sam were more than happy to join in while the rest of the glee club traded happy smiles. Weird, that they had all come to be so celebratory over Karofsky of all people, but that was simply something you learned when living life in the glee club. Everyone had hidden depths. Even Brittany and her war against toilet humor.

"Don't start celebrating just yet." Mercedes eyebrows raised as she continued informatively, "Zizes has a point. We still have to run this by Rachel."

Puck sighed. "Yeah, and who knows what that psycho-"

"_Hey_," Finn protested, feeling injured on behalf of his girlfriend, but the other jock merely shrugged.

"You have to admit it's kind've accurate."

"Like you have room to talk Puckerman," Santana quipped.

It took Mike and Tina about half a second before they realized what the Latina had implied and look the appropriate amount of peeved.

"Really Chang?" Santana challenged, hand resting against her hip as she cocked an eyebrow at Mike. "We all know beneath that quiet exterior lies a remarkably manic individual."

"I resent your accusation," Mike mumbled, leaning his face against Puck's shoulder bashfully. "…even if they might be true."

"I consider it a positive attribute," Tina offered. That was all it took for Mike to be back smiling, and then _Puck_ was smiling, and then the trio-love-fest continued and-

"_Fo-cus_," Kurt ordered, one hand rubbing at his temple, probably getting a migraine from how easily they strayed off topic.

Finn would think at some point his brother would become more patient, but nope. Not yet.

As he said, that was Blaine's job.

"Finn," Kurt continued, once he had assuaged his headache as best he could. "Could you try talking to Rachel? See how she feels about the whole Karofsky situation?"

"Or you could just skip the middle man and allow me to say for myself how I feel about the matters concerning David Karofsky."

Rachel glided in like she owned the building, forceful and confident and yielding to no one. She shot Finn a quick smile; though by the time he returned it she was already focusing on Kurt, arms folded across her chest as she assumed her very own _Rachel-Berry-gets-things-__**done**_ pose. It was slightly more intimidating than Kurt's was.

Finn liked to think that was because she had more practice.

"I assume that's what this little quorum's about?" she asked, and Finn was almost surprised her foot wasn't tapping how impatient her look was as she awaited a response.

Kurt's eyebrows raised towards his hairline, studying his friend quizzically, then shrugged. "Yes. We've decided to let Dave join glee club. Assuming he wants to, of course."

There were a few different reactions Finn had expected from his girlfriend, most of which involved words being spit out at a high fire rate, mercilessly bombarding the teens until they had no choice but to let her speak her piece, or to surrender, or for there to be some mad indignation, maybe a fight or two, _something_, but the thing Finn had _not_ expected was to see Rachel's combat pose dropped almost immediately.

But there it was, as Rachel clapped her hands together in front of her chest with a bright smile, almost swaying back and forth so extreme was her pleasure.

She had been…wow.

Okay, so Finn had not seen that coming.

"Brilliant," Rachel chirped.

Before anyone could question her, the short diva had ducked back out of the room, only to return a few seconds later with the main man himself, David Karofsky in tow.

The fact that the other jock was not staring down at Finn's girlfriend with a look of utter befuddlement and confusion had to mean that he was actually familiar with the driving force that was Rachel Berry, or at least knew _of it_ from Sam. Instead of any protests the taller teen was eyeing the rest of the room uneasily, trying to figure out if he was welcome or not.

It figured that Sam would be the one to end that discomfort, sending his friend an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Dude, we voted you in the club."

"Really?" Dave asked, unable to completely fight off suspicion as he examined the members he was less-familiar with. "It was that easy?"

"You stood up for us," Artie replied, shrugging easily. "It's the least we could do."

"You saved my shoes!" Sugar piped up, kicking out her foot in a dramatic flourish. "You're like a superhero."

"So what we're trying to say," Kurt interrupted, smiling growing at Dave's confused expression, unused to the enthusiasm of Sugar. "Is welcome to the club."

Finn couldn't imagine what they looked like, just a small sea of faces turned towards Karofsky, eagerly anticipating his reply.

For the most part the teen looked solid- like, not as shaken as Finn would be if he had just lost everything.

He nodded slowly, and maybe Finn imagined the way he was swallowing afterwards, like he was unexplainable grateful for this opportunity but when he said _"Thank you"_, and it was obvious how heartfelt he meant it, Finn realized that maybe Dave needed them more than Finn had thought he did.

And Finn couldn't really fault him for that.

"Don't any of you guys have eight period?" Karofsky groused, fidgeting under the bright smiles of Sam and Brittany as they crowded his sides, happy he had joined.

The two of them simply laughed as they guide him to the risers. "Emergency glee meeting, slightly more important," Sam chirped.

"And while I appreciate the fact that you support each other-"

Karofsky was the only one surprised by the sudden appearance of Mr. Schuester, as the rest of them had all sort've gotten used to the director appearing when they least expected it. Which…when you thought about it, made it when they _most_ expected.

It was hard to understand, and it would probably take Dave a while before he figured it out, but it made sense.

In the meantime Mr. Schue kept talking, already facing the dry erase board while the rest of the club happily took their seats.

"I would like to remind you, as a teacher, the importance of attending all of your classes. Education is important, which is why this week's lesson is about taking the high road, even when it isn't necessarily the easiest, or the one most chosen by your peers."

Picking up a black market he scrawled the word _'PERSEVERANCE'_ in big block letters, underlining it with a flourish before he turned back towards the students.

"For some of you, this is a lesson you're already familiar with." Mr. Schuester smiled down at the glee club's newest addition. "Welcome to New Directions Dave."

"Happy to be here," Karofsky replied quietly and, refreshingly enough, he sounded genuine. Despite what had happened to him, despite what he had traded, he was still very glad to be here.

And as Kurt and Rachel led an enthusiastic round of applause, while Sam hooted and pumped his fist and Brittany cheered for _'Big Bear'_ and Santana smirked and traded fist bumps with Zizes, while the Hebr-Asian Fusion laughed and Blaine grinned and even Mercedes had the barest beginnings of a smile, Finn figured that they were happy to have him too.

It was like that starfish thing right? That story, the one about the lady carefully throwing all these starfish that had been swept up onto the beach back into the ocean? She couldn't get to all of them before some big storm was going to hit, she couldn't save all of the starfish, but throwing back just _one_-

Just one made a difference.

That was a thought Finn would have to share with Rachel later. Seeing how much she liked all star-related things. It would be worth it, just to see her smile.

Stars and starfish.

Just one made a difference.

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Endnotes:

That's right, I brought her back biz-nitches. It's Lauren Zizes time. Why? Completely and totally because I missed her. She is such a wondrous character; I'm so happy the writers of Glee thought her up.

But enough of me waxing lyrical about my favorite female character, let's focus on you guys! Thanks to the fine folks who reviewed last chapter; Abby-abs and Frosted Heaven. As always, the feedback is appreciated. Writing this story is so much more fun when I have others who get as excited about it as I do :D

So…the whole Finn thing took me by surprise, as well as this chapter devolving into group-discussion time, but it seemed to work. Originally intended for there to be more outrage at Dave's arrival, but I discovered that the majority of the glee club was already in on Dave's secret. This left like, Rory, Joe, Sugar, and Mercedes as out of the loop, and Mercedes would be the only one to really put up a fight about it (so yes, I _do_ like her, she was just the only one that made sense).

The next update is going to be a bit delayed. I have another story in the works that has chapters that refuse to be anything less than obnoxiously long. I'll try to get it done as soon as possible, but I thought you guys would appreciate a heads up.

I'm going to post this now, because if I don't I'll just keep tweaking it.

Until next time

PS, you _know_ Mr. Schuester would make a lesson on it. _You __**know**__ it_.


	10. Just a Little Crush

Chapter 10

Just a Little Crush

Warning: mild language. From frustration.

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The things Dave did for these people.

Honestly.

When he had joined the spastic mania that was New Directions Dave had known, because he fancied himself a guy of decent observational skills, that his life was probably about to become slightly more…intense. That was the word for it, _intense_. With every conversation, every action, every casual look across the room being amplified by these seventeen-some-odd individuals stewing in their own microcosm of personal needs, it was a reasonable deduction. And finally, _finally_ Dave had a way to understand _why_ that was the way of the world because it seemed that the attitudes of just about everyone else in the school fell into either the categories of one, total apathy, or two, unparalleled, vindictive psychopathy when it came to regarding the Glee Club.

There was no range in between, believe him, Dave had tried looking for it, only to come up empty to the knowing, sympathetic eyes of Kurt and Rachel and a casual, _"good effort"_ shrug from Sam.

So it was sort of reasonable for these people to be wrapped up inside each other's lives. Because they were the only ones that cared. At school, of people their own age, they were the only ones that had anything at stake with each other. So they took their interactions seriously, and their friendships seriously, which resulted in strong relationships, sure, but it also had its fair share of drawbacks.

When people who were this…_passionate_ happened to co-mingle, on a regular basis, with no other outlets for their frustrations and sometimes unfortunately sharing the weight of a stressful social problem, building tensions could only be alleviated with one swift and fatal explosion of unforgettable consequences. Either a brawl or a spontaneous song or a tear-laden, heart-wrenching confession or _something_ was bound to happen because all of that _shit_ had to go somewhere.

Or, if one was feeling especially sorrowful and desperately needed an escape, you could always turn to booze.

Of course, that always tended to lead to _other_ problems.

In their defense - not that Dave was feeling particularly _strongly_ about supplying an argument for certain individuals at this _exact_ moment - it had been a sort of awful week. Dave had to resort to the "sort of" qualifier because he had been a little too occupied to notice how the rest of Team Glee's week was going, but he could infer by the downtrodden expressions it wasn't exactly pleasant. At least, not for the ones he immediately cared about. Sure, Sugar seemed to be doing fine all bright and bubbly and inhumanly happy across the hallway and- yes, that was all of _that_ particular thought Dave managed to complete before he was hit by yet another slushie. Luckily he hadn't felt that one, his extremities having settled into that _delightful_ feeling of pins in needles that pretty much numbed out the shocked sensation of extra ice.

Dave surrendered and started wearing a waterproof windbreaker after the second day of his official Glee standing. Zizes still hadn't stopped making fun of his more it, but that was one of the few points he could argue her down from because she did _not_ get the right to mock when she had not experienced it herself. No, Lauren Zizes was a slushie repelling machine and Dave may or may not have started to unashamedly use that to his advantage. Because he liked his face. He liked it a lot, and anything he could do to prevent permanent loss of feeling in it was welcomed with wide open arms.

So it had been a bad week. A bad week for Dave, a bad week for Sam (who seemed to get ragged on _more_, supposedly for converting Dave), and it had been an especially bad week for the Hebr-Asian fusion, Puck suffering under his attacks in stubborn silence while Mike was consumed by his own guilt and Tina was stressed out of her mind trying to keep a healthy balance between the two, which was a gargantuan feat in itself because even Coach Sylvester new about how badly those particular individuals were at communicating. Knew and didn't even try to use it to her _advantage_, that was how pathetically sad it was.

Increased slushies, mild altercations with the jocks whenever Mike tried to fight in Puck's defense, which got Puck riled because he did not care what happened to him but screw with his boyfriend and so help you misfortune and misery were coming your way, swift and brutal. And by that point at least half of the Glee Club would have rallied, signaled by an emergency text system thing they had set up, and break up the mess quick and simple before any teachers got involved. Turned out, aside from Dave's little fight with Azimio, those didn't tend to go so well for New Directions. Ever.

And Dave himself was having his fair share of fights with Sam, the blond wanting to come to his defense and Dave wanting to go to Sam's defense and both of them arguing long enough to meet a slushie wave head on, no arguments, and still be mad at _each other_ by the time it was done.

Were Dave being honest, he would say he was not surprised by how quickly the rest of the football team had turned on him. That didn't make it suck any less, but at least he wasn't trapped under the delusion that he was getting any invites on X-Box live that weren't from the glee club. Or that they would pull their punches. Or that they would stop _egging his car_.

(Dave had long decided if New Directions ever managed to overthrow the school's current social hierarchy those asshats would be assigned to the gracious duty of making his vehicle absolutely _sparkling_ every, single, _day_. And they would be grateful for it.)

What did surprise Dave was that he didn't see Azimio nearly as much as he expected to. He had assumed his best-

…his ex-best friend would be bitter and need an outlet for that, but it turned out Azimio's appearances were more out of obligation than anything else. At least, as far as Dave knew. He showed up about twice a week to establish his dominance, throw a few well-aimed slushies and few hateful words, and aside from that, nothing. Unless _he_ was the individual responsible for orchestrating the offenses done to Dave's car, but that was unlikely, because that was sort of sacred ground for Azimio. You could hate a guy, but you did not mess with his ride. There were standards.

It didn't make Dave any happier when he got to participate in the sport of frantically cleaning off his car before his mom got home, or make it any more appealing, but it did bring his mind a small token of comfort, which was really all he could ask for. It was the small things.

Sort of like the precious few moments he managed to spend with Sam.

With Dave no longer in possession of his high social standings, the old intimidation and seniority that had once seemed so off-putting no longer worked its charm. Like the rest of Glee Club, he was either invisible or a target, which meant that most of the times he hung out with Sam now had to be done in secure locations, or there _would_ be interruptions. Unpleasant ones; ones that hurt. They had adapted accordingly, sticking to places like the choir room or their houses to stay safe, but it was really starting to cut into their friend-time, and Dave was not liking that. He was not liking that at all.

Especially now that he had- no, scratch that, now that he _got_ to participate in glee rehearsals now, which he would have thought would be good for bonding but no, as it turned out spending an hour trying _not_ to hopelessly trip over your own feet had a way of taking priority over simple things like _interactions_.

It made Sam smile, which was a plus, but now Dave was stuck in this thing called "Booty Camp" and why, _why_ was this the name, he could not stand it, it hurt his head, but he couldn't protest because he was in Glee Club now and even if he stubbornly stayed in the back the entire time he still had to know the dances.

On the plus side, Sam came to "Booty Camp" because Finn had to be there and Kurt had to be there and those were his two rides home, but he hadn't had to participate. Not _this_ time. Apparently those moves the blond had been practicing during their "investigation" time had been part of their performances and Dave hadn't even known it. So the blond got to look on from the audience, laughing at their mistakes and cheering them on for a particularly hard dance move.

Some of these things, Dave swore, were _impossible_. He tried to tell Mike as much (and then stubbornly ignore whenever the dancer "helpfully" demonstrated) but no one was having it. Not Finn, who had to put up with it all year, or Kurt, who at least had rhythm, or Mr. Schuester, who seemed to find Dave's protests an entertaining kind of endearing. Like a wayward duckling that would see the light soon.

It was unnerving.

But Dave tried, because he owed them all that much, and even though it killed a lot of his free time, moments he didn't have to spare, he still felt really good about it. Like even with all these added people between them he was getting closer to Sam.

And then he got the phone call.

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-:-:-:-:-:-

It didn't change very much, just the call itself. Dave had been studying, or working on a project, or something assuredly school-related he couldn't exactly remember anymore, when he got it. Bemoaning his lonely status on a Friday night, but understanding the necessity. School was important, he had to do…school. Yes, whatever it had been.

He had been distracted, sorting through a disorganized mob of papers on his bed while he searched in vain for _something_, when his phone rang, such a deceptively far distance on his nightstand. He lunged for it, cursing as papers tumbled to the floor but beyond caring, just, done with it all, because this was a ringtone he welcomed. It wasn't Rachel or Kurt or one of his ex-acquaintances preparing to unload some strings of obscenities and "well deserved" abuse, but Sam. And anything from Sam, at this particular moment, was a welcomed reprieve, because Dave had a headache threatening to surrender into a full-grown migraine and his eyes were strained from all the numbers he had been staring at and the cricks in his back…they were less than pleased, _so_ less than pleased with their state, and any interruption, especially one from Sam, would be celebrated.

"Hello?" Dave gasped, stretched across the bed with his phone jammed against his ear, hoping he picked up in time.

Please let it be an invitation to their thirtieth viewing of Avatar, Dave could so use an evening of staring at colorful, pretty things on the screen while attempting to juggle popcorn into his mouth. That sounded, that alone, sounded _brilliant_, and Dave was so ready, eagerly awaiting the onslaught of super enthusiastic Sam babble to hit his ears in a flurried rush.

When this was not immediately the case, Dave became a bit worried.

On the other end of the line there was nothing, just, the empty void of no connections. Maybe Sam had pocket-dialed him on accident? That happened sometimes but it was still salvageable because Dave could call him back and see about the movie thing-

"_Daaaaaave_," Sam's voice cheerfully answered, pleasure conveyed by the extended vowel, like he was entertaining himself. "Dave, my man!"

They fell into a pause, Sam content for not supplying the reason for his call. Dave took this time to confirm with a sourful note that yes, this call had been intentional, and no, good things were not happening.

Dave sighed, not bothering himself with an attempt to disguise it, and stared up at his ceiling, exasperated.

"Sam," he said, voice firm and clear. "Are you drunk?"

The following pause was confirmation in itself, Sam busy deliberating, meaning his thinking was impaired, meaning he was, in fact, drunk.

When the blond finally answered his cheer remained undeterred, and if Dave had to stretch, there was a bit of pride in his voice. "You're smart Dave. You're so smaaaaaaaaaaaaart." Sam laughed, and in the background Dave could hear the drunken chortles of others, Mike and Tina, definitely, and maybe Puck.

"That's one of the reasons I like you so much," Sam continued, his pleasure with Dave now transcending to a pleasure with himself, like he was proud of this discovery and that was something that should be shared. Happily.

"Great," Dave replied half-minded, already pulling himself off of his bed and strategizing a plan of action. "That's great Sam."

"Daaaaaaaaaaaave," Sam slurred again, Tina joining in as a distant voice, like it was some kind of new game. "Dave, we're having drinks to have fun Dave. And we had it, the fun, but you're not here and that's sad. That's _sad_ Dave and you should be here, having fun."

Dave shoved his shoes on, _ahum_-ing at all the appropriate moments and making encouraging noises, knowing there was very little he could say that would affect Sam's mood right now. The blond was oblivious to anything, especially anything that resembled common sense, and part of Dave was mad, _furious_, that they would risk this stuff, risk getting caught _drunk_ just to- he couldn't, he couldn't form complete sentences in his mind right now because he was just so pissed, and worried, and who _knew_ what those idiots were doing-

"Dave," Sam's voice was loud and insistent, enough for Dave to realize the blond had been echoing his name several times, trying to get his attention. "Dave," Sam continued. "I don't remember why I didn't call you at first, 'cuz you're like, my favorite pal and- _no_," Sam's head turned away, voice distant as he addressed someone on his side of the line. "Shut it Puckerman, I will not take that crap from you-" he turned back, probably scowling if Puck's laughter, now confirmed, was anything to go by. "But I didn't. I didn't call then so I thought I'd call _now_, so you can have fun."

"Where are you Sam?" Dave snatched his car keys off the hook by his door – an arrangement Sam had once found amusing in its inherent organization – and grabbed his jacket off the back of the desk chair, just in case Sam needed some coverage, or something. Dave didn't dwell on it much, but it never hurt to be prepared.

His mom was out, Woman's Council, at the church perhaps, or one of her other volunteer things. Hopefully Dave could complete this mission before her return, but if he didn't he could always beg off any punishments by stating it was for a friend. She respected that and he was rarely out of the house when he wasn't supposed to be. It was an honor system he respected, and with his dad away on a business trip Dave had been self-enforcing. Bending the rules this one time wouldn't kill him.

He would feel slightly guilty for it later, but the overwhelming call of _Sam_ was enough to pull Dave through that lull.

"Tiiiiina's house," the blond sing-songed, earning a rowdy cheer from his drunken compatriots. "Puck got the drinks an' Mike an' I brought the abs-"

"Still feel ripped off," Puck grumbled, sounding only half-committed to being bitter, the rest of him too entertained.

"You're welcome!" Sam declared, missing the protest and inserting what thanks he believed should have been in its place. "An' no one's here but us and we neeeeeeeed you-"

"I don't," Puck insisted, scoffing. "But he's been whining for like, the past-"

The teen was unceremoniously cut off with a scuffle, between him and Sam if the cheers of Mike and Tina told anything, and eventually Sam made his way back to the phone, panting mildly. Which didn't do things to Dave's libido. It _didn't._

"So you should come," Sam breathed, sounding hopeful and informative at once. "Come and help us make popcorn, because Mike can't, he tried and it went badly and we can't turn off the Lion King, it just keeps _looping-_"

"'_Oh I just can't __**wait**__ to be KIIIIING',"_ Mike cheered from the distance, sounding unbothered by this arrangement.

"Like that," Sam continued, sounding pleased with Mike's addition, like it helped his argument. "So you should come. Will you come?"

Despite the fact that Dave was already in his car, seatbelt buckled, mirror adjusted, waiting patiently to end the call so he could look up Tina's address from where she had programmed it in his phone, he still put in a pause for thoughtful silence, as though he had to consider this (and not because he was a little dazed by the blatant hope in Sam's voice, how badly he wanted Dave to be there).

Eventually Dave shrugged, giving his rear view mirror one last adjustment, and replied. "Sure Sam."

And how was _that_ for playing it cool?

The best, that was what.

And when Sam cheered, "Thanks Dave!", inspiring likewise exclamations from the other drunken morons in his vicinity, Dave did _not_ feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Because Sam was drunk, and drunk versions of people have a way of doing things that sober versions would never _consider_ doing. So…that was that then.

_Just, get there, get Sam, and then take him home_, Dave thought, trying to keep it simple.

Maybe if the plan was _simple_ there would be no way he could screw it up.

Or at the very least, Dave could allow himself the delusion that would be the case, and then he could save the freaking out for when things inevitably got out of hand.

After all, Dave fancied himself a practical person.

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The state of Tina's living room did not appear to be completely unsalvageable; with enough determination one could hypothetically clean the carpet of all the scattered pretzels, cheese puffs, and Ritz crackers, if they were stubborn. The smell of burnt popcorn was distinct in the air, overpowering any odors that dared to oppose it but aside from that, and other wayward food items, everything appeared to be in one piece. Dave had been relieved at that, knew from a few unpleasant experiences with game after-parties how much damage just a few inebriated teenagers could manifest. Clean up was made _much_ easier when you didn't have broken furniture to deal with, but knowing Tina she had probably laid down the law before hand, and based on what Dave had heard these four were more jovial drunks than belligerent.

Still, as Dave eyed the impressive ratio of empty bottles to teenagers, he decided that recruiting some backup would not be unwarranted. Kurt would be a good choice, probably. Or maybe Santana, if she thought the opportunity to obtain blackmail material was strong enough. Dave would think it over.

"Dave!" Sam cheered, thrusting fist into the air triumphantly as Tina wobbled her way over to the couch the blond and the other two idiots were sprawled across, the lone female having been nominated to let Dave in. "You're here!"

"Yep," Dave agreed, frowning at the way Tina collapsed on top of Puck, settling against her boyfriend with a contented smile and consciously ignoring any gruff protests.

Water, they needed water. That would make their hangovers _slightly_ less horrific.

"Here!" Sam enthusiastically waved an empty bottle in Dave's direction, smile brilliant as he lurched over the arm of the couch, offering it to him. "You should…drink. Drink for you! We are share-ers."

"Speak for yourself," Puck muttered, and then was instantly distracted when Tina made grabby hands at his chin, smashing their faces together with such lack of coordination it was almost artful.

"I shall!" Sam agreed happily, grin widening at Mike's hum of agreement, both oblivious to the fact that Puck was no longer listening. It didn't seem to bother Sam much, didn't deter his happiness one inch as he kept his focus on Dave, bottle extended. His grip on the neck of it was shaky, at best, a clear warning of soon-to-be broken glass, so Dave kept his attention on that. Just kept his attention on relieving Sam of his burden, (ignoring how casually their fingers touched because that wasn't something that required mentioning) and successfully pulling the bottle from Sam's reach (and _not_ looking at how good his hair was all disheveled, his bottom lip, wet and red from the number of beer bottles pressed against it-)

"Thank you," Dave said, pulling his gaze away from Sam with a swallow, taking a rough estimate of how much each of them had drank. "How much have you guys had?"

"Individually?" Mike asked, grinning over the top of his beer bottle, eyes focused on Sam's antics. "Or collectively? Because I can answer neither."

Beside him, the blond had twisted so that his back was sprawled over the arm of the couch, head and shoulders hanging upside down, over the edge.

"Thank you Mike." Dave was sure to keep his tone pleasant, no longer surprised by the mild urge to strangle when it attacked. "That was very helpful. And also," he reached forward, snagging the bottle from the dancer's uncoordinated hands before he could protest. "I think you've had enough."

"_Boo_," Puck cheered, gaining enough awareness to pick up on when the booze was getting cut off. "Buzzkill."

"Go back to making out with your girlfriend," Dave ordered, not wanting to deal with that particular individual at the moment. Luckily Tina supported this plan, and Dave got the next few minutes of his life to be Puck-free as she eagerly picked up where they had left off.

Deciding to push his luck, Dave quickly relieved Puck and Tina of their bottles too, making a fast trip to the kitchen to locate a garbage bag. He found a box and set off back to the living room, determined, firing off a few texts to Kurt to get scrawny butt over here. If Dave got to deal with this, so did he. That was like- basic fairness. Probably.

When Dave returned Sam had managed to get himself upright and appeared to be trying some complicated hand game with Mike that neither one of them could remember the motions to. The end result was a lot of smacked faces and laughter which was fine, it was fine, but Dave just wished they would stop leaning so damn close together, just, he was a teenager with hormones and they were two guys he had once crushed and was currently crushing on, and even he had his limits-

"_Daaaaave_," Sam called, collapsing against the couch with string of drunken giggles, amused by the last in a long line of failures. "Dave you're…we're supposed to do fun things."

"I am having fun." Dave had consciously kept his eyes glued to anywhere that wasn't the couch, searching for any more bottles he had missed, the remainder of the beer safely hidden out of reach. "This here," Dave continued, doing his best to placate Sam, in case he turned out to be a touchy drunk. "This is fun."

"…do you mean it?"

It was the tone that got Dave.

That was what made him stop. It was the first…that wasn't to say Sam didn't sound happy, because he did, but he had also sounded…genuine. Like he really cared, he so transparently needed and _wanted_ Dave to be having a good time too, because Dave was his friend, and Sam cared about him.

And there was _also_ so much of that Dave could read into, so very much his mind would happily pick up and run with like a madman clinging to a dying dream, and Dave normally wouldn't, because he was a realist, but in that exact second he was struck by the overwhelming _want_ to do so. Like maybe just this once…

Before he could reply, Puck cut in with a scoff, loud and graceless, and Dave looked back in time to see him roll his eyes in a painfully exaggerated way. "Seriously, just makeout with him Evans. You know you want to; _we_ know you want to-"

_Oh God- no, nononononononononoooooo- let them be forgetful drunks_, Dave thought, pleading and praying as though it would make a damn difference, _let them find that funny and let Sam not freak out about that-_

Outside the frantic ramblings of his mind, the conversation continued, blithely carrying on without a care to Dave's actual participation.

"I can't do that," Sam protested, scrunching his nose at Puck. "He's my best friend, you can't-" he elbowed Mike in the stomach, who had been stuck in a dreamy stare down with Tina. "Tell 'em Mike."

"Wha-?" Mike blinked a few times, mouth hanging open as he considered, but managed to do a quick mental recap and catch up, understanding the question without clarification. "Who said that?"

Sam gestured vaguely, hands traveling up and out as though to demonstrated the whole world. "You know," Sam began, frustrated with his lack of communication. "It's like a rule."

"Well it's a dumb one," Mike declared with a haughty tilt of his head. "You should be allowed to makeout with _whoever_ you want, best friends included."

"In fact," Mike continued, a dangerous look of determination making its way onto his face, one that never made for good things. "It should be _mandatory_," he declared, thrusting a triumphant fist into the air. "To makeout with your best friends. A rule! 'Cuz if you can't makeout with them, who _can_ you makeout with?"

"This logic," Dave began to say, somehow managing to find his voice through the horror that had descended upon him. "I don't think it's quite-"

"Quiet you!" Mike waved a menacing finger in his direction, attempting to look authoritive and all knowing. "You cannot _defy_ the Makeout Rule! For it is _the_ rule-!"

"Hey rulemaster," Puck called out, one hand cupped around his mouth, the other wrapped around Tina who was pouting at _their_ makeout interruption. "Isn't Sam your best friend?"

It was pretty much the equivalent of explaining the meaning of life to Mike at that exact moment; the dancer's eyes widened, amazed and confounded by this undeniable truth and Dave should stop this- should have stopped this earlier, _way_ earlier-

But then Mike Chang was collapsing back onto the couch, draping himself across Sam Evans and, with a look of determination that could not be equaled, enthusiastically beginning to makeout with him, the blond, Dave's friend, Mike's _best_ friend, Sam Evans.

And then, just to make matters that much better, Sam Evans started kissing him _back_.

Which made Dave's previously existing hatred for alcohol all that much _greater_.

Despite whatever distractions Dave had wanted to pacify himself with it just…it kept happening, even after Puck and Tina lost interest and turned to their own entertainment, it just _kept going on_. It was a fact Dave's mind was struggling to cope with, half-believing that perhaps he had fallen asleep in the middle of his frantic studies and apparently _this_ was the end result, but it was real. He knew it was real because even his subconscious would not want to deal with drunken Puck and- Sam and Mike, as though this were normal, as though this were an understandable happening, were just- sure, they were drunk, but inebriation, Dave knew from his own pitiful experiences, had its limits. There were still lines somewhere.

Lines Sam's mind should have met, examined, and dutifully walked away from, regardless of how good a friend he was, but instead there was this, this…_thing_ of them making out, leaving Dave to watch, slack jawed, as his past and current objects of affection went to town on each other's faces.

He vaguely felt like he should be recording this, and that thought was immediately greeted with an overwhelming backlash of "_No_, _stop it, be a responsible and respectful friend"_ from his brain clashing with a _"Yes, we should do this thing, why aren't we doing this thing, DO THIS THING"_ from Dave's less refined yet persistently excited lower regions. It was an altogether unpleasant combination, ending with a sickening feeling of guilt in his stomach and some remarkably exciting feelings in his pants.

It was very conflicting.

It also felt like there was a veritable range of emotions that should _also_ be bombarding Dave that he was neglecting (confusion maybe; horror, a possibility, perhaps a bit of jealousy?), and as sure as he was of them rearing their ugly heads later, for the present, Dave was stuck between being dumbfounded and appreciative, trying to keep his eyes averted from the way Sam's hands grabbed at Mike's back, at the way the dancer towered over the blond, dominating, and the stupid (_awesome_) sounds they were making, and how-

"Sam." Mike pulled back, gasping, lips pink and smirking, a dopey, pleased grin. He combed a hand sloppily through the other teen's hair. Sam (the traitor? Dave's not sure if it really applied) leaned into it, eyes closed with a hum of contentment.

"Sam," Mike continued, gaze shifting from the blond leaning against him to Dave. Despite the alcohol, Dave could see the wheels turning in his head, some craftiness at play, and the smile transformed into something more sinister. Almost, dare he think it, devilish. "Dave's your best friend too right?"

Mike finished this with a thumbs up to Dave, something the sober teen could only give the briefest second of attention because then Sam was perking up, realizing the truth of this statement.

"That's right," Sam agreed and then, for a split second, they were both smiling at Dave, beaming like they shared in a victory. For a moment, Dave almost felt like a winner with them. He stupidly allowed himself to relax, despite himself, despite _knowing_ better, and that was really all it took for him to completely let his guard down.

It happened in slow motion, except it didn't because it was real time, but somehow felt like hyper time? But the next thing Dave knew he had an armful of giggling (_giggling,_ this was no overstatement, merely a simple delivery of facts) Sam Evans, and then the second after _that_ he had a face-full of Sam Evans, and it was, undoubtedly, the best face to ever been seen in that particular position.

It was mere reflex that had Dave wrapping his arms around the other teen's waist, because it was improbable that Sam would be able to remain standing on his own. That could be the particular reason for the way he had latched onto Dave, slinking almost into him in a manner that was just horribly unfair, so close to things he shouldn't want to be close to and it would be better if the blond stopped _grinding_ on-

But face. Just, face and Sam, kissing him- _goddamn_- it was happening, this was not some torturous daydream but the real deal, lips soft and wet and eager, sloppy but making up for that and then some with enthusiasm alone and Dave probably shouldn't be responding but damnit, _damnit, __**damnit**_ he was human. He had limits too and the way Sam kept pressing so close until there was nothing- grabbing and pressing and _not stopping_-

Dave was human, and Sam tasted like cheap beer and cherry chapstick and had octopus hands that were pretty much everywhere, sliding up Dave's front around his back down to- and he was constantly moving, an impressive feat in itself because he shouldn't be able to manage that much, not when he couldn't even do a _high five_ but then again hand-eye coordination didn't really have much to do with stamina and _will_ did it and-

Why? Just- it was the best, in that second, exactly what Dave had wanted. Validation for his attraction, total confirmation that this was him, this was real, this was what he wanted, but the stinging question _of_ why continued to play in his head, and hope, so strong and defiant kept building, supported by Sam's care and his want and his willingness, his sadness for Dave not being there, his-

It took Dave a few seconds to realize Sam had pulled away, when he discovered it wasn't so hard to breathe now and gulped gasps of air like it was his lifeblood (and it was, whatever, but-), waiting for Sam to recover so they could do that again, or more, because Sam hadn't moved away, but maybe, perhaps maybe Dave shouldn't be taking advantage of this (_oh, there you are common sense. In case you were wondering, you weren't missed_) and then Sam was looking up at him, eyes squinted.

"I think," Sam began, sort of dazed, eyebrows furrowed. "I think that…"

It was the small sound of rejection, a hummed protest in the back of Sam's throat that had Dave moving, shifting the blond in his arms, turning him away. The move was executed just in time for Dave's fears to be confirmed, Sam upchucking all over the hardwood floors with an unceremonious gargle.

Out of respect, Dave averted his eyes, allowing Sam what little dignity he could offer until the gagging subsided and Sam went still, sagging against Dave's chest with a pathetic groan.

It was pretty much the equivalent of a cold shower, helpfully bundled with a wake-up call.

This was the reality Dave lived in. Not fantasy land, _here_. And there were still a few problems _here_ that needed to be dealt with.

Dave had located the nearest bathroom on his way in for just such a reason, and was already hauling Sam towards it, knowing based on intake alone Sam wasn't quite finished yet. He was right, again, because Dave was unfortunately gifted that way, unfortunately perceptive, and he took what solace he could from rubbing a gentle hand on Sam's back, giving the blond what comfort could be offered in between bouts of vomiting.

Yes, it was the perfect picture of romance.

"Sorry…sorry Dave," the blond gasped, looking the epitome of dejected at his sudden sickness. "I didn't mean to…"

Dave rushed to console the other teen, squeezing his shoulder for added emphasis. "It's okay Sam. I don't mind."

"Of course you don't." There was a pout now, small and petulant and dangerously attractive settling on Sam's lips. "You don't get bothered by _anything_, you're like, Superman good."

"…Thanks?" Dave said, not sure how he should take that, and the other teen gave him an exasperated look.

"_I'm_ not Superman good," the blond huffed, drumming his fingers against the side of the toilet, glaring down at its porcelain whiteness.

"Well…" Dave was not equipped to deal with self-hating Sam, he was barely able to deal with plain ole' drunk Sam and the changes in mood here were getting a little too extreme for him to cope with at this exact moment, so he was kind've at a loss for what to say.

Turned out, his buying time ploy didn't work so well because Sam just stared at him critically, an open challenge, like Dave had confirmed it even though Dave hadn't but he was _going_ to or _something_-

"You're Sam-good," Dave settled on, earning a snort from the blond, like it was a cop-out, but Dave continued. "You're Sam-good and you know what? I _like_ Sam-good, so if _you've_ got problem with that, with my opinion, then I must not be quite as uh…"

"Superman good?" Sam offered, but he was smiling now, a shy, coy thing, no longer doubting, and Dave couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Then I must not be as Superman good as you think I am."

Though when _that_ became the scale of measurement for the quality of someone, Dave did not know. He was just sort of riding the tide here.

It had been a long evening.

"Okay," Sam agreed, giving a jerky, uneven nod. "Sam-good's good."

"Exactly."

They looked at each other, and just like that it was like any other time they were hanging out, shooting the breeze, sharing easy smiles and slow comfort, because they were friends.

And then Sam's expression soured, and with an unpleasant gag he was back to wrenching into the toilet.

So…

That pretty much summed up the evening.

* * *

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Endnotes:

Soooooooory everyone. Got hit by finals. Good news is, I'm all done for the semester, so I should, in theory, have more time to write. We shall see.

That being said, who else has "I Just Can't Wait to be King" stuck in there heads? What? _Everyone_? GOOD.

A big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, Sammiam and Abby. You two are toooooooooooo kind ;)

But seriously, thanks for the encouragement. I'm glad it entertained.

So I've had this chapter planned out since….like September, and the fact that I finally get to write it fills me with so much excitement and happiness and just, FINALLY, right? A lot of times I'll make plans for things that never end up happening, but I'm glad that didn't turn out to be the case. Drunken makeout times have been achieved. Though initially, they were going to be a bit different.

For your viewing entertainment, I will share the original version of the makeout scene.

It's the bare bones of it though, in script form, so it's not totally refined.

**SCENE**

**Mike**: Has been scorned by his girlfriend and boyfriend. "Sam. _Saaaaam_." Reaches for the blond blindly. Cuddles into his side. "We should _totally_ make out."

**Sam**: baffled but not disgusted. "What? No way, Tina will beat me up."

**Mike**: "But _Saaaam_, all best friends make out."

**Sam**: more confusion "I've never…" giggles, "made out with a best friend."

**Mike**: looks up at the ceiling as though this is the most mind boggling thing in the world, like he forgot he suggested it. In wonder. "I haven't either."

They stare at each other. Sort of. They're drunk, so they sort of end up looking half at each other and half _past_ each other.

**Mike**: determined "We should fix this."

*enter drunken make outs*

**Tina**: *woops*

**Puck**: speculative "I am not as bothered by this as I should be."

**Tina**: Brightly "We should make out."

**Puck**: slams fist down, spilling beer. "Accepted!"

I thought it was cute enough to share :)

Okay everyone,

Until next time :D


	11. Don't Make Me Over

Chapter 11

Don't Make Me Over

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Sam was not a winner.

It was a terrible thing, because Sam kind've had a thing for being a winner. In a figurative sense as well as, you know, the literal one. There was confidence and stuff that came from winning, this nice sort of feeling of elation, of victory, of knowing that overall, you did better than all your opponents, which was a greater comfort than most people realized. Or maybe they did, and that was why people tended to get so crazy about it sometimes.

Unfortunately, at the moment Sam wasn't even in the same _realm_ as a winner, let alone the figurative, good-feelings a win would instigate and was actually, in the most literal sense, sick of himself.

Really, the drinking thing had seemed like an awesome idea at the time. After Puck had won Tina over it seemed stupid _not_ to agree to the Hebr-Asian Fusion's plan of drinking their sorrows away until the world was a bright ray of sunshine and the worst thing that could happen to you was running out of beer. Puck's suggestion of weed had been overturned almost instantly, neither Tina or Mike (or _Sam_, not that either of them had bothered asking the blond's opinion), wanting to get near the stuff. The drinks were a happy compromise, even if the ridiculous amount of calories would catch up to Sam later and heave enough guilt onto him to encourage a few intensive workout sessions, Sam decided it was worth it.

The week had been _awful_, with a renewed intensity to his slushie attacks and the jocks hiding even _more_ disgusting things in his locker as a happy surprise, with he and Dave on the outs, with Mike and _Puck_ on the outs, with _barely_ being able to get through a period with completely dry, clean clothes, it had been a bad week. They deserved some down time.

Sam hadn't invited Dave. Not that he was angry with the dude but…well; he couldn't help but feel that Dave would be disappointed in them. Despite his past actions, Dave was a pretty ethical guy and tried to avoid things that were _too_ crazy. So this drunk bonding thing, as fun as it _could_ be, could also lead to an angry Dave Karofsky glaring them all into submission until the booze was put away.

Not the best alternative.

The blond had almost considered going through with his invite to Dave anyway, just to see the other teen's actual reaction, but had backed out at the last minute. Sam didn't want any more conflict with Dave and besides, Puck would be pissed if his "party night" (the quotes established by him, claiming that four people getting drunk was a damn _disgrace_, not a party) was interrupted.

If Dave ever figured out about it, Sam would apologize, receive his little lecture, agree, and all would be well. Yeah and…what was that thing his dad always said? It was easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. Not that Sam had to run his social calendar by Dave or anything, but still, it _kind've_ applied. Right?

Things had started getting hazy into his third drink and after that Sam lost track completely, the world going sideways until his phone appeared in his hand, dialing the number he knew on pure reflex, his mind occupied with other things like locating another beer and searching for Cheatos and helping Mike put out the popcorn fire. Small things.

Honestly, Sam couldn't even remember the conversation, had completely forgotten it had happened at all until Dave rang the doorbell. The sound somehow jogged his memory enough for him to see it, envision it in his head, and bell equaled Dave so _loudly_ that he couldn't help but cheer, because there was Dave and things, things were _so_ much better with Dave.

The rest of the evening was not something Sam was proud of.

Granted, he had not expected to come out of an evening where his only intention was to get plastered with very much pride at all, but at least he had gone in with the knowledge that anyone, mainly Dave, would ever witness it.

Except Drunk-Sam had forgotten about that, much like he forgot to have common sense and personal boundaries and _other shit,_ and his pride, much like his self respect, had flown right out the window.

He had acted like an asshat.

Just, an awful, _awful_ person.

So…it had been awhile for Sam. For, you know, specific interactions of the especially sexy nature. Up close physical contact.

_Making out._

It had been awhile. Sam thought that hadn't bothered him and it didn't seem like a ridiculous assumption. When he was _sober_ it didn't really bother him, because that meant he was mature, that meant he was in control, that meant he could achieve other things that didn't involve catering to his hormones. For the most part, Sam felt great about that.

But only Sober Sam. Because apparently _Drunk_ Sam had different priorities.

The horrible morning-after conversation Sam had with Mike was enough to make him want to swear off alcohol until he was at least thirty, both of them consciously avoiding eye contact with the bruises and bite marks _they_ had inflicted on the other person, the rest of the encounter too overcome with booze for them to remember many details except for the feel and the heat and the thriving-

And yep, Sam should not think about it. Thinking about it let Drunk Sam's actions affect Sober Sam in an unpleasant way, and Drunk Sam did not _deserve_ that kind of power, no he didn't, he didn't get to ruin Sober Sam's long string of maturity and self control and _respect_ just because _he_ thought it had been awhile.

They managed, somehow, to end the conversation with a few laughs, once they realized how awkward both of them felt about it, and carry on with their friendship just as easily as before. They left bros, even after Puck and Tina had sufficiently given Sam the stink eye (despite the fact _all of them_ blamed Drunk Puck for starting this mess), and moved on.

Aside from some bitter feelings on Sam's part on the behavior of his drunken counterpart, he didn't have many complaints.

Then, of course, the blond remembered the _second_ half of his evening's adventures, and felt sick and angry all over again.

Dave too. Of _course_ he would make out with Dave too. It wasn't enough that Drunk Sam had made moves on _Mike,_ he had also practically forced himself upon Dave who had only been trying to help his sorry, drunken ass.

Dave, who had never stood a chance, because he was polite and unfamiliar with Drunk Sam, who had thoroughly cleaned the living room while Sam finished puking in the bathroom, Dave who was gay and not outed and didn't have the courage to go out and find a guy to date, let alone a guy to _makeout _with.

But then Drunk Sam had been right there right? He had been there and he wanted some hot makeout times, didn't matter with _who_, didn't matter _why_, he just _wanted_ it, desperately. He needed it. He needed to feel Dave and to kiss Dave and be _near_ Dave and Dave couldn't help himself because honestly – and Sam would know this because he had asked – Sam was a pretty decent kisser. One of the few things his lips did that managed to compensate for their abnormal size. Sam was, at the very least, an A minus on the makeout scale, and was also a male, and super attractive, so it wasn't surprising that Dave had responded. Hell, Sam couldn't even fault him for it; the blond_ had_ pretty much forced himself on the other teen.

Not that Dave would ever agree with that, but it was true. It was true and now Sam needed to go and make things right. He needed to talk to Dave and hope, pray that his current best friend was not through with him.

Seriously, if Sam got dumped because his stupid hormones had acted up, he was going to become celibate.

It was a small price to pay for friendship.

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Dave was not avoiding Sam.

True, he could probably be doing a little more to help line up their schedules better, put forth some effort on that front, but he had been really busy and Sam had been really busy, so it was understandable that they hadn't gotten a chance to talk about their…_encounter_ yet.

He hoped - because he could, because he wanted to - that for once in his life booze would work in his favor, that Sam didn't remember anything from the evening except the Lion King and throwing up. Those were two solid focal points that Dave was good with him recalling, and then they could laugh and Dave could lecture and it would be _fine_. They would have a few days where Sam would put on his best down-trodden puppy face, and Kurt would give them all reproachful looks and Dave would just be stern and then it would pass, they would admit the moral of the story, and then they'd move on.

That was how it was supposed to go. In a perfect world.

Dave hadn't even shared one complete, awkward and wavering look with Sam before he realized the blond remembered just about all the wrong parts of that unfortunate evening.

On the bright side - if there was one - Sam had managed to be slightly occupied by having uncomfortable staring contests with Mike, both of them trying to look when the other one wasn't and failing _every time_. It was an impressive enough display that Dave felt horribly pained just watching it, was almost relieved when balance had been restored to the land and the two teenagers were in perfect harmony again, making fun of each other and quoting bad movies, just as they always had.

He was _almost_ relieved, because then Dave realized that all the awkwardness that remained had accumulated between him and Sam, hanging like an obnoxious wall they were too afraid to address, which was stupid because they were friends and friends shouldn't have to worry about these kinds of reasonable situations. The only reason they _hadn't_ was because Dave had been busy with studying and Booty Camp and glee rehearsal and church work, stuff like that, and Sam was very understanding when it came to keeping his grades up. AP classes, got you every time right? Right.

Dave wasn't avoiding Sam, which was why when the two of them had finally found themselves all on their lonesome, it was perfectly logical to talk about the non-existent elephant in the room. Expected, even.

That didn't make Dave any less horribly uneasy inside, even after a solid stream of constant mental reminders, but it should have.

At least, a little bit.

Sam decided to start. Mostly because he was the one who had snuck up on Dave, the other teen too busy locating the last of his missing textbooks that Brittany had "playfully" hidden around the auditorium. He only had one more to go and then he could have escaped, begging off a study session with Sam to do…something, Dave would think of something, just like he had the last three times, and that hadn't seemed intentional, right?

"So."

Dave also didn't jump; because Sam _could_ be a sneaky son of a gun whenever he really wanted to, despite how much it boggled Dave's mind. Apparently the blond and Mike had special training weekends where practiced tailing members of the glee club to "observe their natural functions".

At first it had only worked on Finn and Sugar, but clearly their training had paid off if Sam was capable of giving Dave a mild heart attack as he didn't – _truly_ didn't- jump at the sudden intrusion of his quiet search.

"So," Dave echoed, plastering on a smile he hoped was cheerful and not entirely succeeding by the look on Sam's face. "What's up Sam?"

Good, good. That seemed casual. Like a normal conversation they would have. It had to, it had to because if it didn't and Dave actively started to think about how their usual conversations went he would over-think like the goddamn wind and have a panic attack, most likely ending the evening with some frantic sprinting out of the Auditorium.

Right. And picturing that of course _wouldn't_ make Dave worried, because he was good at keeping cool under pressure, and besides that, it would be stupid to start freaking out over a conversation that hadn't even happened yet.

So Dave should do that.

He should do that a lot.

"Real talk?" Sam's eyebrows were furrowed in a perfect expression of worry, an almost endearing kind of anxiousness morphed into his features. He was gnawing on his lip again, not that Dave had looked because anywhere below Sam's nose was unsafe territory, but the movement was there, in his peripherals, just like it always would have been if Sam was worried.

Dave shrugged, somehow managing to keep collected despite the way Sam was looking at him. "I figured that's how we always played it."

"Of course," Sam replied, nodding distractedly, eyes averted to the side. "I guess I meant like, real _serious_ talk."

The eyes were back on Dave, judging his reaction.

As they both knew exactly what this was about, Dave didn't have to play at being serious or force himself to pay attention. It was already there, and it was already written on his face.

Sam could see it.

So with that acknowledged, Dave tried to alleviate Sam's nerves and lighten the mood. "What took you so long?"

For about half a second Dave was afraid Sam would take it at face value and get offended. The blond had paused, his worried expression morphing into that adorably confused one he wore so often. Dave could see when he had caught it, was so relieved when Sam gave a genuine smile, relieved.

It was enough to break the ice, and from that point on, Dave knew they would be okay.

At least, for the conversation.

The ramifications of past actions were always a different thing though, weren't they?

"I'm just…" Sam combed a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words to say. "I'm sorry man. I was stupid and drunk-"

"I'm not holding it against you," Dave had to cut off that business before it got started because he _would not_ let another second go by with Sam feeling guilty. "These things happen Sam."

"No they-" the blond cut off with a scoff and there was a look there, like that one he had been wearing when he put himself down in the bathroom. "They _don't_ Dave. They don't. There's a line and I crossed it-"

"You wouldn't have done it if you were sober," Dave reminded, hating the way Sam kept glaring at the wall. "And if I remember correctly, I have some apologizing to do too."

"Not the way I see it." Sam pressed his palms against his eyes, looking somewhat pained. "I threw myself at you."

"And I was both capable and morally obligated to throw you off." He didn't want to point out his sins for fear of the anger it would instigate, no matter how justified, but Dave wouldn't let Sam pin all the blame on himself. "I did not."

"Yeah well, I'm an attractive dude," Sam exclaimed, throwing an arm out as though presenting himself. "Attractive and willing and you're…" he trailed off, looking to Dave hesitantly. "I guess you don't get much, right?"

The implication there was obvious, not that Sam had ever been about subtlety, but that didn't make it easier to digest.

It hit like a solid blow to Dave's chest, that Sam would think that in that situation he had considered that as an option and taken advantage because of it, that he was that desperate, that _low_.

The pathetic part of Dave hoped that Sam only believed that because he had somehow figured out how Dave felt about him, how much he truly _cared_, but even in his numbed state he could tell that was a long shot at best, if not an impossibility.

By some feat of inhuman composure, Dave managed to keep that storm of emotions under his skin and keep his expression neutral, calm and listening, as Sam thankfully continued, walking away from Dave as he paced around the backstage area.

"I know that's- that's seriously not a cool thing to suggest, but it's like that because you're a good guy Dave, you don't think about that kind of stuff. You're mature and good and I _thought_ I had matured because I wasn't _focused_ on that Dave," Sam looked at him helplessly, conflicted. "I wasn't and it didn't even bother me. I had school and glee and friends and I didn't _need_ that and then all of the sudden-" he waved a hand frantically, the other one pushing his hair flat against his head. "All of the sudden I did and I used you."

The blond trailed to a stop, letting his words hang in the air as he turned, slowly, as though waiting his persecution.

He wasn't going to get one not now, not ever, and definitely not with Dave struggling against the wave of suggestions rumbling in the back of his mind at what Sam had revealed, the hormones thing, not having, then having it – with _Dave_ – but it was all so pathetically wishful, such a distant dream that Dave knew he couldn't waste a second thinking about it, because if he did, it would be his downfall.

Maybe it meant something, maybe it didn't. Those were things to think about _later_.

Sam's voice was quiet and pained as he continued his confession. "I used you," he said, eyes locked on Dave's. "I used you and I used Mike and it was _stupid_ because you are my friends and I'm not going to _ruin_ that, I'm not going to screw with you just because I feel horny. You deserve more than that."

"You were _drunk_ Sam," Dave snapped, having had about enough of that bullshit. "You don't get to put the world's troubles onto your shoulders just because you made a few bad calls."

Sam looked like he was going to interrupt him, eyes defiant, so Dave continued, moving to close the distance between them. "You got drunk and yes, that was a bad decision, you are young and that shit messes with your liver development or _something_ and you could have gotten caught and that would have led to who knows _what_, but you did it. You did it and the worst you got was an embarrassing story. Guess what Sam, most people have those. Most people make dumb choices when they get drunk. Does that mean they were vindictively intending to dole out some heavy emotional damage or abuse a relationship or whatever you think you're capable of doing?"

Sam had been steadily shrinking back against the wall with each proposal Dave made, flinching at the suggestions, but Dave continued, knowing he had to bring it home.

"Sam, I respect you, you know that. But I sincerely doubt that you are that crafty or manipulative."

"I'm trying to take responsibility for my actions here!" Sam shouted, jaw set in a firm frown. "I don't get a free pass just because I was drunk! It was still me!"

Dave took a deep breath, trying to get a handle on his emotions. He started again, voice calmer. "I understand that Sam. I do. But I also think you're overestimating the amount of damage you've inflicted here."

"Can I at least apologize?"

It was a legitimate question, not sarcastic, not taunting; just a general, pained question that Sam honestly didn't have an answer to. Even though it was clear what he would have preferred, he still deferred to Dave's judgment, since he was the supposed wounded party.

"You let me apologize," Dave said, eyes locked on Sam's. "And we'll call it even."

Sam frowned. "There's nothing to-"

"You don't make excuses for me," Dave interrupted, firm, leaving no room for argument. "I won't make any for you. Deal?"

For a second it was clear Sam considered arguing, considered shifting into a battle stance and throwing himself back into the fray on mere principle, but Dave just held his gaze. Kept locked on those blue eyes until they eventually wavered, knowing a good deal when they saw one, and with that, a tightness he had registered growing in his chest finally managed to dissipate.

"Deal," the blond agreed quietly, giving a slow and thoughtful nod.

"Good," Dave said, allowing his relief to be seen. "Look Sam, I knew things weren't going to be great going in. Drunk people do dumb things, it's practically a law of nature."

"I know that," Sam said, huffing almost, his arms crossed defensively over his chest. "Just…I don't like messing things up Dave. You're my best friend, and the idea of screwing with you like that…" It was impressive how much Sam's eyes could express, some sorrow and regret and pain all wrapped in one. "It's messed up man."

However that made Dave feel, he shoved it away, tucking those emotions into a small corner to deal with later. Right now, he had other things to focus on.

"And yet," Dave said, somehow managing to sound calm, unshaken. "Still not intentional."

"You're too good a guy Dave," Sam said, managing a smile. "Is it so wrong to want to be a good bro?"

"We're cool Sam," Dave said instead of answering the question. "Don't worry about it."

"Okay."

_Okay_.

And that was really all there was to it. Balance had been restored; things were back to business as usual, and Dave…

Dave got to feel some fragile, small thing inside of him fracture.

Were he one who leaned towards a flair for the dramatics, he would say it was his heart, but realistically, he knew that wasn't really the case.

It had been his hope.

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When Dave was dwelling on it later, considering and re-inspecting, reliving every moment of their conversation so he could understand exactly _what_ had happened, he would realize that the resilient and stubborn fighter that had been slugging away inside him this entire time had finally thrown in the towel, based not on the awkward behavior exhibited by Sam post-makeout, but by their "real talk" conversation instead.

If there was one thing that was blaringly obvious, it was that Sam was invested in their relationship. It wasn't exactly new data, but Dave found it comforting to have it confirmed anyway, because he was greedy and sometimes insecure like that, and it was nice to know that you were valued enough to be taken into careful consideration by someone. You know, it made you feel good. It implied you were worth the effort, deserving of the extra mile. That your friendship held in jeopardy with this other person was a serious issue, not to be taken lightly. It proved that they _had_ a strong friendship, which Dave knew, which Dave had, consequently, always banked on with this particular little operation of his.

The best relationships, he figured (based on the embarrassingly grand amount of chick flicks his mom had managed to drag Dave and his dad to), began with strong friendships before they shifted into something better. It was like all you needed was a really solid foundation before you could build up to the exciting, new, invigorating stuff. The better your base, the more you could support, which meant longer lasting, real, _good_ relationships. Like the dating kind. The kind that started with holding hands and ended with wedding vows, stuff like that.

Ultimately, Dave had always meant to become highly valued in Sam's world. At first it had been a hope, because Sam had, unknowingly and without any true intention, become very important in _Dave's_ world. Of course Dave would want those feelings to be reciprocated somehow, that he wouldn't end up being deeply invested in a person that could only spare half a thought to his well-being. This thing they had now, their best-friendship, that was what Dave had always been striving for. It was what he reveled in.

This was the precursor to the next step, the final one, the one he _really_ wanted.

So he had sat back and considered and reviewed and thought, thought, _thought_ until he had a proper understanding for the next stage of his plan, just to make sure he wasn't springing anything too soon, just to be positive he wasn't reading too much into things.

He wasn't.

Though by the end of it, he was still trying to hopelessly convince himself he was.

Whether Sam was capable of pursuing a relationship with another guy was ultimately irrelevant, because even if he _was_, Dave discovered _he_ still would not be considered as a possibility for dating.

Dave hadn't thought it would be possible, but Sam simply valued him too much.

It was clear with how much this bothered Sam that Dave's presence in his life was not something that could be compromised on; it couldn't be threatened with things like stupid decisions or dumb fights. It was too important. It wasn't worth the risk.

Which was a problem because relationships were, in essence, one giant risk.

This _should_ be a good thing, it should be a _great_ thing that Sam was more bothered by offending Dave or scaring him off than he was by _making out with a dude_ - that he didn't even give _that_ part of the evening a tiny mental breakdown in itself – but Dave couldn't because it had moved past that. Whether Sam was bothered/aroused/confused by his desire to makeout with Dave wasn't important, what _was_ important were the ramifications.

Dave was Sam's friend. His _best_ friend. Dave was important.

He was too important to take a risk on, even if it was a possibility.

Dave knew, thought despite the sour sensation welling in his stomach stubbornly clinging to him, that what he was feeling was ridiculous. This had _always_ been the plan. All he had to do now was push Sam until the blond saw the risk was worth it, that dating Dave was not only a possibility, but a _good_ possibility, one that could lead to so many great things for the both of them.

But just the thought of Sam's pained expression was enough to put a halt on that particular train of thought, enough to settle Dave's wants into a quiet lull instead of their usual roar, knowing that he couldn't, if he could help it, see that face again. He couldn't be the cause of it.

He didn't have it in him.

Even if Sam had enjoyed his drunken escapades, on his own, he would never be able to see Dave as anything more than a friend. That was how he was defined in Sam's world and as long as he was given that title, that particular definition, Sam would never be able to consider him differently. It didn't matter if the blond had "matured" or actively sought out two males to- it didn't _matter_, because Dave was still Dave and would always be Dave and as long as there was that constancy Sam's status quo would be okay.

But Dave's wouldn't.

He couldn't push Sam. He knew that now. He couldn't drag the blond figuratively kicking and screaming until he considered what could be, Dave simply didn't have the heart for it.

He didn't have the _hope_ for it.

It had lasted this long, trudging on valiantly, determinedly, against all odds. Dave's persistence had been remarkable, he thought, all things considered. He had done what was right, had stood up for the people he should have stood up for long ago and become a better person than he could have ever wanted, one that could accept who he was as a person.

Now all he had to do was accept Sam. Accept life as it was and move on.

It was the way things were supposed to be.

He didn't like it; but it was how they were supposed to be.

* * *

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* * *

Endnotes:

Okay, just a quick heads up before we move onto the chapter; I have just recently come into employment which, combined with musical rehearsals (community theater, but still, the practices take place every night) my free time for writing will be pretty much regulated to the weekend. The good news is I know where this story is going, so I won't have to waste any time dallying on that particular front, but the next update might be a bit. Just a fair warning.

And now onto the chapter! Aside from the first chapter, this one's one of the shortest but I discovered, quite shockingly, that despite that I had covered pretty much everything I had wanted to. The Sam/Dave confrontation didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would but trust me; I'll make up for it with plenty of sad puppy eyes in the future. They are not as cool as they seem. Sam will definitely figure that one out soon.

Thanks to Abby for reviewing the last chapter! I'm glad you liked the new Azimio-Dave dynamic. I was afraid it would be a bit of a cop-out, but it felt right, so I'm pleased it was well received.

There are things in the works, definitely more places to go from here, so no worries people, this is not the end of the road, it is merely the eye of the storm.

Until next time : )


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